Why do I do this to myself? On a fun filled, frivolous, Friday night with the girls late last year, vaguely inebriated, I agreed to a wonderful weekend away with same friends, in Samoa. That trip is now next weekend. Now whilst Im excited about 3 days on a beach with my girls, the reality has now punched me , smack in the face. Or thighs. Since that Friday night, Im pretty sure Ive gained 150 kilos and got shorter. Today I decided to guts it out (pardon the pun) and buy a swimsuit. FFS. Why do shops that specialise in trauma, then employ 12 year old ballerinas to pretend to serve you? A tog shop should employ 75 year old ladies with cataracts to tell you how amazing you look. I would believe it if it came from someone who has actually lived a life, as opposed to the clear skinned, super model who has never had a wobbly bit in her life! And why do they pull the curtain back when my arse is exposed (whilst still wearing worst knickers ever, but faves) because you have to try swimsuit over your undies, adding another layer of rolls, swimsuit not making it past my calves it was so freaking tight, and breasts bare. She did look a little shocked, especially when I snarled like a Rottweiler and pushed her pretty ballerina body forcefully out of the smallest dressing room in the world. I tried on togs that suck your tummy in (only to find they push the fat into your back and you have rolls out the back instead of front) togs that raise your breast,togs that give you a waist, togs that make you taller, younger, fitter, funnier. I tried them all. I looked the same in all of them. Bad. I came home with a plain black swimsuit, that cost the same as adopting a child, a headache and a severe case of depression. Doesnt help that all the girls have been doing boot camp for 2 years, have whole weeks of not drinking, (or eating me thinks) and run as a form of relaxation. Anyone want a ticket to Samoa?
Posted on: Sun, 10 Aug 2014 03:33:50 +0000
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