Around this time every year, my friends and I book a night away in a hotel. It’s a perfect time to go, something lovely to look forward to after the drudgery of January. We meet for lunch, then relax in the spa all day and meet up again for a leisurely dinner.
Relax in the spa all day? That means one thing… wearing swimming togs in January! Uh-oh, I better try my swimmers on.
Now I know that we all put on a few pounds over Christmas. No big deal. But I defy anyone to put their swimsuit on in January and not recoil in horror! A-ha, so that’s where all the selection boxes, cheese and wine went… straight to my ass!
When I manage to avert my eyes from my ass, they settle on my legs. Dear Christ they look like two hams. Dry, scaly, purple, blotchy hams. Did I mention hairy? I may need a lawn mower. A new razor will have to do. I usually use my husbands, but my poor dear husband may take his chin off if he attempts to shave after I’ve finished with my legs!
My eyes move reluctantly to my feet. I hate feet. Not just mine, I hate feet in general. But my feet in January after the winter hibernation are particularly gross. Scraps of nail varnish from maybe September still clinging on?! My skin is so tough I could sandpaper a wall!
Best get started. Shaving done, hope I haven’t clogged up the bath?! Next, is to start to slough away dead skin on my lovely cracked heels. Finally, I immerse myself in a vat of moisturiser. A touch of nail varnish and I’m good to go.
Smooth legs, painted toes, I’m a new woman. Wow, I feel like a caterpillar emerging as a butterfly! Why can’t I keep this up every week and not have such a fright every January. I fear laziness may be the answer.
My favourite thing about winter? Black tights and woolly jumpers! No can do in the spa though. Thank God for long white fluffy robes!