Wandering through a charity shop, I pounce on my latest find like a cat on a mouse.
It’s a brilliant art book that is still (hallelujah!) in its cellophane wrapping. I hand him a measly three pounds with an air of smugness that I can’t quite hide.
But the book is not for me: it is destined for the current drawer in the guest room.
This already contains a scarf that was given to me years ago and that I never wore. There’s also a bottle of perfume that came in a Beauty Box I subscribe to, a piece of “antique” china from another charity shop, a discontinued candle I bought for a song at a discount store and a leather handbag I bought for me and not I don’t use.
These, along with some shortbread cookies I’m planning to make (wish me luck, I’m not a big baker), are intended as Christmas gifts for my friends and family.
I’m not being frugal because I’m struggling with the cost of living. In fact, I can’t wait to walk into my office Christmas party in a lace dress, silver platform sandals, and a matching bag.
The real reason for my stingy Christmas? Hits to lose weight. Just a few months ago, I was technically obese, a size 14, and completely miserable for the holiday season. Now I’m in second place and I’m a size ten, thanks to Mounjaro.
Like anyone you know who has suddenly lost a substantial amount of weight, I am taking the magic potion that suppresses my appetite and has allowed me to achieve almost effortless weight loss.
By the time I sit down at the festive table to eat my turkey and refuse my pudding, I will have invested £1,000 in my appearance thanks to a recipe for Mounjaro, writes Florence Green (File Image)
But my new, lean body has come at a cost, and I’m not talking about the digestive upsets that still send me running to the bathroom. Each little Mounjaro pen costs £200 from an online pharmacy and lasts four weeks.
By the time I sit down at the festive table to eat my turkey and refuse my pudding, I will have invested £1,000 in my appearance. Plus, I couldn’t resist clicking “add to cart” for a whole new, smaller wardrobe.
What’s more, I have no intention of calling it quits and risking the pounds piling on again in January, so my habit will continue to be a burden on my finances for the foreseeable future.
This leaves me with a problem. I’m not a rich woman and, like me, my bank balance seems noticeably smaller this year. Which means I’m going to have to make some Christmas cuts, starting with buying gifts. I think women often put themselves last when it comes to Christmas, so this year it’s all about me. That means I have to be astute in my purchases.
My four closest friends love buying gifts for birthdays and Christmas. Every year we go out to dinner and exchange gifts.
Generally we are all quite generous. They know my favorite perfume and my tastes in jewelry, elegant candles and books, but they don’t know that I am in Mounjaro.
I have no intention of quitting and risking the pounds piling on again in January, so my habit will continue to be a burden on my finances for the foreseeable future (Stock Image
They are disconcertingly critical of injections, so I’ve let them believe my weight loss is due to a low-carb diet and exercise.
I considered suggesting a £10 Secret Santa this year but, by the time it occurred to me, everyone else was already planning their gift exchange and a meal followed by drinks.
I shied away from the food (too expensive and I have no appetite), but said I would join them for cocktails and gifts.
With such a hole in my finances, I’m planning my gifts carefully to make sure I can address my real priority: staying slim. I checked everything in the charity shop for signs of wear.
I found a pair of ‘vintage’ diamond drop earrings for £1 and put them in a cute £2 jewelery box which I ordered online from China and which looks convincingly expensive. In fact, I’ve spent more on ribbons than gifts this year, since fancy wrapping makes everything look so much better.
My family is more complicated. My husband has been asking me what I want. The honest answer is a three-month supply of Mounjaro but, like my friends, he has no idea I’m taking it.
So instead, I ordered a designer bag and a cashmere sweater. I know you’ll expect something expensive in return, but I picked up a second-hand designer jacket on sale at Vinted for just £15. Not only does it look good, but I’ll tell you that by buying vintage I’m saving the planet.
My dad will get a bottle of gin I won in a raffle and my mom will get a bowl of spring bulbs I’m trying to grow. If that project fails (which seems likely), I will run to Aldi to buy flowers and chocolates.
There are still a few people on my list. It’s time to go to the charity shop again. As soon as I’ve done my jab.
- Florence Green is a pseudonym.