When I was a child, I dreamt I could fly. I mean, properly fly.  I dreamt I had huge, white, feathery wings and my dreams were so vivid I’d wake up with the feeling that I’d been soaring through the air all night.


An incident at work yesterday, thirty five years on, made me wonder whether the time was right for my dream to come true.  You see, as I was stirring my cup of coffee, I heard an unfamiliar flapping sound.  I stopped stirring, looked around and the noise stopped.  I stirred my coffee again, and the flapping noise began again.


That’s weird, I thought.  Had a bird flown into the office without me noticing? (Granted, slightly unlikely.)  Or had I finally grown the wings I’d always wanted?!  Better late than never!  (Although again, a bit weird.)


And then it slowly dawned on me.  Having earlier taken off my cardigan, I slowly looked down at my arms and there they were.


I slowly put my spoon down, drops of black coffee slowly dripping over my keyboard, whilst inside my head I was screaming, “WHOA!!!!  LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THE SIZE OF MY BINGO WINGS!!!”

(Excuse me while I compose myself.

… a double vodka later …)


What the …?  Where the hell did they come from?! I could actually take flight with those bad boys!


I mean, I know I’m a .. *cough* .. fuller figured woman and all but I go to the gym.  (What??  I do!!!)   I have been known to work on my triceps/wings on occasion  … and  I do enough housework to have arms like Jennifer Aniston for God’s sake!


So what’s the deal?  I’m 41, my body has been through two pregnancies and my weight has yo-yo’ed for years – so what do I expect?


So, Operation Bingo Wing has begun!*


Who’s with me?!


* Haven’t exactly decided what this entails yet.  Picking up a pint of beer is exercise, right?


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