Peas: A large box, enscrawled with 'Asos' has just arrived at our house.
Dove: Nice machaan, you doing some shopping?
Peas: Yes, but shit shopping. I have had to buy myself some new...work clothes.
Dove: Why isn't that nice?
Peas: Because it reminds me that in about 8 weeks, I'll be back at work. And I can't fit into my pre-pregnancy clothes, so I've basically had to buy myself a new wardrobe.
Dove: Hashtag first world problems.
Peas: It's three pairs of enormous trousers, a few smart tops and a coat.
Dove: What is the size of your new pants?
Peas: I was a 10 when I got married. Fast forward almost two years later, and I am sitting in a tight 12, comfortable 14. FUCK.
Dove: [Sad face]
Peas: So I've had to get a bunch of new trousers, as I've been told my child bearing hips will never fit into my old pants again.
Peas: My hips are like the opening of the gates of Troy.
And apparently they'll never go back.
Which is GREAT news.
Dove: I'm sure they must. Look at the celebrities.
Peas: The celebs must have some kind of vice grip surgery.
Dove: Um, what's a vice grip?
Peas: The jaws of life. That thing that opens and closes car wreckages. Giant, hydraulic, steel calipers.
Dove: Oh. Those.