Torturous, bitch of a thing....

So, I wore this nice black lacy camisole under my shirt today, at work. I was having a girly day with the lace. While it looked nice – and yes, only I got to see it – it also had the benefit of being one of the fitted stretchy ones that also holds things in. You know – possible bulges, enticing love handles – all those loveable things the best women have. When I first put it on it felt pretty good.  I had just finished my 5km run and boxing session and I felt streamlined and ready to take on the world. An hour later at work, on a tropically humid day,  I walked swiftly to the ladies loos and ripped my shirt off, dragged the lacy, torturous bitch-of-a-thing off and threw it across the bathroom. It landed with a thwack and lay all pretty and lacy looking on the floor.  I then stood in my bra, letting my natural curves all hang out and swore as god is my witness I will never wear that again.

There’s a lot to be said for letting it all hang out. 

Cellulite rebounds...

When I was a kid I always wanted to be beautiful and thin. As I grew up I realized neither of those were going to apply and I shrugged my shoulders and went ‘meh’. Today, at boot camp, I was doing wall climbs. I hate wall climbs. Why? Because they’re hard. I’m not going to say I love the challenge and it makes me a better person because wall climbs don’t and I’m not into all that pyscho-new-age bullshit about finding yourself through pain. Puh-lease.The thing is I fell into the sand from the wall. No, I didn’t hurt myself because firstly I'm invincible but more importantly I landed on my arse. Now the point to my story is this – yes - exercise is good. Do it. Benefit from it but if I did not have a fat arse I would have been in pain on falling. So, do not lament over your curves or what you think you lack or what you think you should look like. You will always make up for it somewhere else and in this case a fat arse saved me. Spare a thought for the skinny Minnies who have no fat. When women with curves we fall, we rebound.  We rule.

As I always say, that’s what cellulite is for.

Fat-suck-er-upper-ers….

So, I went in the pursuit of form fitting lycra fat-suck-er-upper-ers for a particular outfit I am going to wear. I’m not blind. I have faults. If my mother was alive she’d tell you ‘none of her children have faults.’ So let’s change ‘faults’ to ‘things to deal with in a constructive fashion.’ Curves. They can get out of control. Anyone who has battled their weight knows what I’m talking about. Its human nature to want to look as good as you can. However, now at 47 and been-there-and-done-that, I have come to the realization, as I stood before a row of constrictive Lycra – call them girdles or fat suck-er-upper-ers – that I just want to smooth things down and define my waist more. I don’t want to be so uncomfortably squashed in that I can’t sit or eat or do anything else. So I didn’t buy an industrial strength fat-suck-er-upper-er. I want to live life, curves and all, and not be bound by elastic expectations. Say NO to fat-suck-er-upper-ers….