Xx Millie xX
Life Is For Living, Rite?
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Why, Why, Why?
Why, in a state of euphoric happiness, did I ever agree to
let Gez help me get ready for our camping trip which, I
might add, has still not been properly sorted? Not only has
she managed to persuade me to go out with her and buy a
bikini which is so not me its scary, but she also now
insists that I do as she does and suddenly become perfectly
alabaster smooth in every way, shape and form. Now, as much
as we would all like to look like Gez in a bikini, with
flat stomachs, tanned skin and perfectly smooth legs, even
I have to admit that this is not always possible with the
uses of cheap products from your local chemists, more like
£300,000,000 worth of cash and plastic surgery.
I neither have that kind of cash to spend and neither do I
want plastic surgery, but it would be nice to wear short
skirts and shorts without having to worry about whether or
not your legs are show-off-able. But I must admit, sitting
here looking at the vast array of creams, waxing sets and
razors that are currently surrounding me, along with an
enthusiastic and slightly psychotic looking Gezzer, that it
doesn't look like it's going to be an altogether smooth
ride achieving that kind of piece of mind. In fact, looking
at all these so called beauty products it looks more like
she is about to perform some form of nasty, painful ancient
chinese torture on me, for not doing as she told me to,
which I did anyway.
Knowing my luck the waxing thing will go incredibly wrong
and she'll end up ripping half my skin off, she'll leave
the cream on for too long and end up burning me or
something, and she'll hit a major vein with the razor, and
just when I've decided maybe I don't want to die after all
she'll kill me. And if all that goes well the fake tan will
fail dismally and I'll end up with bright orange stripes
all along my legs and look like some kind of peaches and
cream sweet gone wrong.
What is the point of tanning your legs, when the rest of
your body will be on show and none of it will match? I
don't get it, but Gez, great, wonderful Gez who can, if she
so chose, spend hours on the beach in front of her house
sunbathing in the all-year-round sun that never leaves the
sky above her and achieve a real tan any day she chooses
says that it makes you more attractive.
This is the part I have been trying to get across to her.
Matt has been one of my most trusted mates for months. He's
seen me in every embarrassing, humiliating and generally
awful situation imaginable. He's helped me through times
when I've acted like a right cow, seemed like a right idiot
and ended up lost, alone and vulnerable. He's been there
when the whole Tom thing erupted, read things about me that
nobody likes thinking about, seen me at my lowest, most
pathetic point. And none of it has put him off.
So why do I need to turn my legs the colour of sun-ripened
oranges and the texture of ivory in order to be more
attractive to him?
Answers on a postcard please
Xx Millie xX