Sorry darling your too fat.

FLICKING through the menus my mouth started to water.
Choosing our take away was the highlight of the weekend. ‘How do you fancy pizza tonight? ‘ I asked my husband Carl.
He nodded. Only it wasn’t just pizza I ordered.
‘Can I have extra cheese and two garlic breads with chicken dippers please,’ I asked the person taking the order.
And it wasn’t just weekends that we found ourselves bonding over the takeaway menu.
In fact sometimes it felt like treating ourselves to take away dinners was the only thing we bonded about these days.
No wonder then after just two years of marriage I’d piled on six stone, going from a size 10 weighing nine stone, to a whopping 17 stone.
Before I’d met Carl I’d found it easy to keep a size 10. If I noticed a few pounds creeping off I’d simply cut down on my portions and skip a few treats.
But since I’d walked down the aisle a year after meeting Carl my weight had been a constant battle.
The bigger I got, the more I ate. And the more I ate the more miserable I became.
No wonder then we’d been drifting apart. But while Carl worked long hours as a market trader and then stayed out with his mates I always found some company, usually in the shape of a pizza, followed by a bag of sweets and tub of ice cream.
But how could I even think about dieting when food was the only thing we seemed to have left in common.
Tucking into a big greasy Chinese or Indian meal with a bottle of wine on the sofa was how we spent our time together.
If I attempted a diet, Carl looked disappointed when I tucked into a salad leaving him to order alone. So I’d cave in and eat with him too.
‘I’ve joined a slimming club.’ I told him one night; keen to prove I wanted to make myself sexy and attractive again. But Carl just shrugged and looked bored so once again I caved in.
 It was if I thought eating might save out marriage.
It was a vicious circle. I came to realize that as I hadn’t had children, or ever had any issues with overeating in the past. There was only one thing making me fat. Marriage.
I’d gone from a fun loving independent girl, into a frumpy wife whose life revolved around food and the sofa.
I didn’t recognize the person I had become. But I wanted my marriage to work so I kept tucking into the meals and settling down on the sofa with sweets.
But despite the fact we enjoyed eating just as much as each other, it was clear Carl didn’t fancy as much. Our sex life had dwindled to nothing.
As the gap between us grew wider, food was the only thing that filled it. It was easier to stuff food in my face than admit the marriage wasn’t working.
But soon even chocolate, pizza and wine wasn’t enough to build a bridge between us.
So instead of diets I turned to the gym to try and lose the weight. I worked out four or five nights a week. But it seemed impossible to get below a size 20.
One night Carl came home from work and got changed to go out again straight away.
With barely a word between us the door slammed shut behind him.
I slumped down on the sofa, hands already hovering over the takeaway menus.
‘You can order a meal, go the fridge and stuff your face, or you can pack a bag and leave this unhappy marriage,’ I told myself.
I looked at the fridge. Then I got up and walked straight past it into the bedroom and opened my case.
I piled all my black frumpy huge clothes into it and called a friend. ‘ Can I stay with you for a few days,’ I asked.
There were no tears, just relief as the taxi sped away. Now my life had to change.
Friends told me: ‘ Keep busy.’ So I arranged to do something after work every night and made sure my weekends were packed too.
Reconnecting with old friends felt wonderful – and rushing around meant there was hardly any time to indulge in take away meals.
Instead I’d grab a salad at work and a chicken wrap before heading out.
One day I was getting dressed when I noticed the waistband on my trousers flapping open. ‘Id lost weight without even trying.’
‘Can you believe it? I; said to my friends later. I never managed to lose more than a few pounds when I was married, now I wasn’t even trying and the weight was falling off.
Within a month of leaving my husband I’d lost more than a stone.
As the pounds continued to melt away with barely any effort at all I could only think of one reason. Being single.
I’d been slim before getting married. Then I’d been fat when I was married and now I was back on my way to being slim again after leaving my husband.
Without any expensive diet club or gym member ship the weight was falling off fast.
As I started divorce proceedings I was already down to a 12 and then within a year I’d lost seven stone.
But when I saw my picture had been used on an advert for diet pills: ‘ It wasn’t pills that made me slim, it was leaving my husband,’ I fumed.
I wrote to the company and ordered them to remove my picture straight away.
I’m still and single and I’m happy to stay that way.