11 July 2017


I step in to the dressing room and strip off my trousers.

It's not simply warm, it's hot. This summer is taxing all of us in this hot, sticky city. I used to love that at night the cold never came during the summer month, and I could simply spend hours hanging out in denim shorts or in a nice short dress, revealing my lean, long legs.
I come from the Alps, and I used to think that it's not late until it gets cold, so when I moved here, 18 years old and 110 pounds, with a BMI barely touching 17.5, I loved that part.
It's true that climate has changed since then, and now we have 38° (100.4F) at 7PM.

My whole body is breaking a sweat, which is not strange as I decided again to walk the 4km from work to home in this temperature - then again, this helps shaking off the stress from the day (and, a little nagging voice adds in my mind, it only helps minimally with the carbs I gorged at lunch).
I feel strange and suddenly I wonder if a minor earthquake is happening (that's not so uncommon here, and nothing to worry about). But no one seems to notice in the shop, so I grab the size 4 trousers I have to try on and finally realize my legs are shaking.

I sit down and think if I walked too much in the heat or something. I take a big breath and no, my blood pressure is not low. It's anxiety. It's anxiety that I may not fit in a fucking pair of what we call size 42.
I'm fucking 35 years old.
And I stumble in fear that a stupid pair of trousers I don't even like may not fit. And I'm not even in public. I need to get hold of myself.

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