The sagging couch sighs as it wheezes the tiny amount of puff it has left as Lisa throws herself on to it, hitting the pale patch in the fabric where the original indigo colour has faded over time. The nightly routine of getting home from work, dropping her bags, and dumping herself onto it's originally plumped up cushions has taken its toll on the dreary landing pad.
She's often considered buying a new suite or even having the present one reupholstered but has held back from taking the leap. In many ways, the creature comfort side of her actually likes the way the cushions have adapted to her body by moulding out a snug dent for her to lounge in and provide a place where she belongs.
She leans over to grab the large, red bag of Malteesers poking out from under the pile of discarded sweet wrappers cluttering up the coffee table. Bent forward, she can't avoid noticing her stomach hanging over the elasticated waistband of her pyjama bottoms. It has caught in the folds of her t-shirt and is a reminder of how she's definitely lost the hourglass figure that used to regularly attract wolf whistles and comments as she walked down the street.
She's fully aware that another Malteeser, or rather another bag of Malteesers as is regularly the case, won't make her feel any better in the long run as 'the honeycomb middle that weighs so little' will eventually show up on the scales. Pushing these thoughts to the back of her mind she pops one of the slightly melting balls into her mouth and crunches into its crispy centre. The sweet burning sensation as it melts onto her tongue and clogs in between her teeth is about as gratifying as things get in her life nowadays.
Grabbing the TV remote control balanced on the armrest she flicks through the channels and stops on the late night shopping programme that occupies the graveyard slot on Living TV. The period after Jerry Springer reruns have finally run out of steam for the night and before the next daily shows start. She's in no rush to get to bed and has decided to get up late tomorrow making the most of her day off, the first weekday she's had off in months. She originally booked it as holiday so she could do a bit of shopping and get her gym membership renewed. However, over the couple of months she's been waiting for the day to come she started to question whether is was a waste of £120 as she's very likely to repeat the previous two years pattern of only attending a few workouts at the beginning of the year and then spend the following eleven months feeling guilty about not making better use of it. After many evenings trying to figure out the best way to spend her free day she finally decided that saving the money, having a lie-in, and watching some trash TV shows the night before seemed more appealing.
The presenter is sitting in a cheap looking studio with a fake window, a Yukka on a plant stand, and a few bar bells over to one side in an unconvincing attempt to make it look like a home gym. She is standing next to a very slim woman lying on an exercise mat wearing a pair of three-quarter length black leggings and a tight vest that cuts off just above her stomach, conveniently showing off a very developed set of abs. Lisa takes a quick look down at her bulging stomach again comparing it to the presenter and her assistant. She decides that both of them are far too perky, energetic, and enthusiastic than seems bearable or even appropriate at 4.15am. She wonders if she was living in LA like the two Barbie styled figures on the screen whether she would be likely to sport their ultra bleached hair, super-tans and Hollywood smiles. More importantly would her figure look like theirs. Probably not.
Her ears prick up as she watches the promotional video offering some bizarre contraption that promises to sculpt, tone, and refine as it strengthens practically every muscle in your body, including saddle bags and hamstrings. Just ten minutes a day for 30 days is all it takes to notice the effective results. Now she's sure that the woman demonstrating the equipment on the mat has spent far more hours over a far longer period of time to get that shape but it still looks like it might be worth trying. She contemplates using the £120 she's saving from her gym membership to buy it. As they rightly point out, she could then exercise in the comfort of her own home.
She tries to work out how long it is until her school reunion party and whether she could manage to get her body back into some kind of socially acceptable shape before then. She's far too cynical to believe that she could achieve the sculpted leaner body that the irritating presenter implies is achievable within 30 days but any kind of help right now could be better than nothing.
She feels the pressure to make her decision as the insistent male voiceover repeatedly reminds her that the bonus accessories that come with it - five workout DVDs and a flat mat - are only available if the order is placed today. After counting that the reunion party is only three weeks away and delivery is going to take five to ten working days she realises her chances of making much difference in less than two weeks are almost impossible. She decides to change channel.
Her ears are soothed by the English accents she now hears while watching a presenter that looks reasonably glamorous but at the same time not too intimidating. It's evidently a British shopping channel, not only because all the prices on screen are in sterling but because the producers seem to have understood the a fine line of looking great but at the same time not alienating the viewers.
This presenter clearly understands that enticing her British audience requires a more subtle and delicate approach than the shameless artificiality of her US counterparts. Her modified early 80s Lady Di haircut probably places her mid forties but she could certainly pass as a bit younger as she sits rather elegantly on the sofa. Lisa is depressingly aware that she looks a similar age to the presenter even though she must be at least ten years younger. Just one of the numerous reasons why she no longer sits in front of the mirror for too long when getting ready in the mornings.
The presenter introduces the next segment with a switch from jewellery to clothing that promises to help you instantly regain your figure. Perfect timing, Lisa thinks, as she is shown what looks like some sort of old ladies girdle. The 'body shaper' comes in black, white, or flesh – a weird, pinkish beige colour that really doesn't seem to match anybody's skin tone. Now this could be the answer for the reunion party. From what she can work out is seems to just squeeze everything in which at first thoughts doesn't appear very comfortable. However, a chorus of slightly larger ladies start proudly showing off their bulging-before and not-so-bulging-after shots whilst repeatedly insisting how easy it is to breathe in this amazing undergarment. The possibility of being able to get back into many of her old dresses, as many of the converts on screen claim they've been able to do, is enough for Lisa to decide that this is a must-have purchase.
She grabs the remote control again and presses the red button. It brings up the interactive page that she's used a few times now. Though she's no regular, she got quite familiar with it last Christmas when she bought most of her family's Christmas presents this way because she couldn't face the shopping centre hysteria anymore. She goes over to her desk and scrambles around in the drawer to find her pin and membership number for the channel. She unfolds the crumpled post-it note that the details are scribbled on and proceeds with the purchase. This is the life. Buying a happier her without having to leave home.
The on-screen instructions promptly inform her that the correct pin number has not been entered so she rechecks her post-it note. Noticing that one of the zeros looks more like an eight because of a crease in the paper she decides this is probably her mistake. She starts to key in the correct pin number but just as she is entering the last digit again the presenter announces that the stock has now been sold. There are no more body shapers left. They are not accepting any more orders. This seems to be just her luck – all because her figure eight should have been a zero.
She slumps back in the couch and starts to remember how depressing the last reunion party had been five years ago. Most of it was bad but the worst bit was towards the end as she sat by the bar waiting for her taxi to arrive. She'd looked on in despair as all her former school 'friends' formed a circle and linked their arms over each other's shoulders. It was a kind of group smooch that looked more like a drunken rugby scrum as they all propped each other up and swayed around to Whitney Houston's 'I Will Always Love You'. Luckily, her taxi arrived half way through so she'd managed to avoid all the goodbyes and 'we must do this more often' niceties.
This has reminded Lisa that reunions aren't really that much fun after all and that trying to relive the past like that tends to be quite disheartening. She decides it's probably best to give the party a miss as she pops the last three Malteesers in her mouth. Getting up from the sofa, she throws the empty bag back down on the table vowing that she'll tidy up tomorrow. She presses the standby button on the remote and flicks the lamp switch off. Time for bed. Time to dream. Time to forget.
