It was a bit of a faff to be honest, long story short;
We were meant to go to Czech.
Rory’s work plans didn’t oblige.
Said work plans ensured the only time we could go away was the very first week of the school holidays.
Everyone else in the world was better prepared than us and had booked nearly all the places.
But we did it, we got decent flights and, hopefully, a lovely place to stay.
Now I can look forward to making lists, planning plans, buying the children more shorts and sandals and checking how much better the weather is there than here (four times a day).
It’s all gravy baby.
Except not quite, it’s time to create the perfect summer wardrobe, which is never perfect.
I need to buy a swimming costume.
All the websites are telling me how to get beach ready and create the perfect summer look, but they’ve never met met and my body.
We are non-conformist.
Swimwear today is a joke, all the fashionable ones have bits cut out of them, not only does that make for a dodgy tan but there’s bulges popping out where they really shouldn’t.
I’d look like someone cut the top off a sausage and squeezed.
A scaffolding type swimming costume is all good and well, but that blubber has to go somewhere.
There’s only two places it can go, up or down. Neither is a pleasant sight.
Getting in to this firmer swimwear is a challenge in itself.
I find myself hidden in the bathroom, this isn’t a task I need to undertake with Rory or my children bursting in.
I start getting into the outfit and pulling it up.
Due to it’s heavy duty nature it takes time and effort.
It (I) gets warmer.
It gets more difficult.
It swiftly turns into the episode of Friends, you know, the one with Ross and the leather pants.
I really don’t see what was wrong with the Victorian style bloomers and dress affair! I’d proper rock that look.
By the time I’m all squeezed in, I’m feeling pretty fragile and not much in the mood to parade the promenade or swim. Instead I whack a sarong on and breeze along the shore (looking like an escaped wedding marquee).
Why can’t ‘they’ just make a comfy and flattering swimsuit that maybe sucks the flob away?
I hate buying swimwear.
In fact no.
I hate buying clothes full stop.
I always consider myself a trendy, hip, down with the yoof sort then I look into a mirror and realise it’s all in my head.
As a ‘larger’ lady pushing middle age I just don’t know what I’m meant to wear these days without looking like a twat.
The Perfect Summer Wardrobe
I’m a girl with simple tastes.
I love a nice vintage frock, unfortunately they aren’t cheap and Seth doesn’t allow for pretty clothes and shoes, using me as a human tissue.
And I’m OK with skinny jeans but I like a long top with sleeves.
These modern day clothes just aren’t practical for a lady of lump like myself.
Dresses are either all super short or to the ankle.
I have fat knees so short isn’t a preferable choice and, as Rory kindly and frequently points out, I am short of leg and so maxi dresses look a bit odd on me. I also trip over them a lot/hoover them up.
I oft wear a dress with jeans or leggings, which is fine, but these new modern day sleeves are a massive pain in the arse.
You know the ones I’m on about, ‘cold shoulder’ sleeves, or sleeves with gaps.
In essence, they’re actually a good idea, they cover the bingo wings a treat and provide a useful gap for breeze. BUT they always have this silly knotted thing which means wearing a cardigan is a no no as it creates a tiny, puny muscle effect.
If dresses and tops don’t have these sleeves they tend to be ‘Bardot’ style, (no bra isn’t an option and shouldn’t be considered by anyone over 30 – you’re never as pert as you think), sleeveless or cap sleeved.
That means I have to swealter in a cardigan and abstain from enthusiastic waving.
Tops are so short as well, I need one that goes to my hips at least, I don’t need my midriff hanging out at any given opportunity, it all needs trussing up!
So essentially. If, like me, you’re an overweight, middle-aged woman, it seems society wants us to wear only one uniform.
Sensible ‘poplin’ style trousers – black or navy.
A jersey t-shirt – bright pink.
A cardigan – zipped.
Walking shoes – the chunkier and duller the better.
Although I’m trying to fight it with every essence of my being, I can feel I am being slowly but surely pushed into the realm of drab mumwear.
Change is coming and I don’t like it.
I’m off to buy some sensible trousers.
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