"My body is a temple"
Recently I've heard this metaphor
thrown around quite a lot. My body may indeed be a temple, but it currently
resembles this...
|
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| You are sacred, O mighty fat one. |
(I have bigger tits and more hair
though)
Seriously though, why do people say
that their bodies are temples when they're being GOOD to themselves. If I were
a Goddess having offerings made to my 'temple', I'd want them to be in the form
of lager, crisps, chocolate, cocktails, lager, chip butties, cake and lager.
Not a sodding wheatgerm smoothie and a stick of celery - Jeez!
With a sunny holiday in Gran Canaria looming in just a month's time, I fear it is finally time to try and create a 'new me'...predominantly to avoid either someone harpooning me, or Green Peace trying to roll me back into the Atlantic Ocean. But where does one start?!
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| Dsoess thiss j3llyyy have vodkahh in it?! |
In the middle of April I had an ingenious
idea...I'd give up alcohol til the end of my A levels.
I've never had the best will power and this seemed like the perfect opportunity
to put it till the test! ... I lasted a week. Seven days of total
alcoholic abstinence and bodily cleansing, broken by the tempting allure
of beer, Pimms, mohito, whisky, strawberry flavoured...something and vodka
jellies. In three and a half weeks I had broken my non-alcoholic vow just three
times. Adding up the units in these three 'days off' I'd consumed the
equivalent to a drink a day for every day that I'd given up.
So...that sort of failed on its arse. "Never
fear" I thought to myself, our leavers' ball is the perfect incentive
to create the 'new me', because I'm frankly buggered if I can't fit into my
dress! Alcoholic-abstinence is apparently impossible, so what else could I try?
I took to my trusty friend t'internet to do some research....
EXERCISE!
Why had I never thought of this before?!
According to the BBC website, adults should aim to "a minimum of
30 minutes moderate-intensity physical activity, five days a week".
“MINIMUM”?! “five days A
WEEK”?! So THAT’S why I’d never thought of this before. For me, my strenuous
early morning exercise regime consists of power walking the half-marathon from
my bedroom to the bathroom at 7.40 daily. Occasionally I even go for a
run...well, more of a naked sprint down the landing when I forget my towel.
Flashbacks of performing self-surgery boob jobs by spending my P.E lessons
hiding tennis balls up my jumper, and launching shuttlecocks at my teacher’s
head remind me why Charlotte + Exercise = Disaster. (I was excellent at
algebra)
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| Bottled water...Because you're worth it. |
Re-think time! Perhaps I could create the facade of
a healthy, new improved me? Time for a new beautifying regime and more
research. One link I came across suggested washing your HAIR with bottled
water. Christ the Lord, what next? ‘Oh
yes darling, after the San Pellegrino
became a permanent substitute for my shower, I threw away all my BarryM nail
polishes in favour of the more earthy, neutral shades of Farrow and Ball wall paint. While I was at it I replaced my Andrex
with silk
handkerchiefs and colonic irrigation
and switched my vodka and coke for an
acai berry smoothie, brought to me
by bicycle from the rain forests of
Brazil to save on air miles. I’ve also opted for cucumber slices instead of eye make up now, all because my body is a
temple, don’t you know?’ Apparently my daily facial routine should
involve cleansing, toning, exfoliating and moisturising. Oh THAT’S where I’ve
been going wrong...apparently stumbling blindly across the room in search of a
face wipe just isn’t enough! Well that’s a shame because I always heard that
lots of sleep was crucial and therefore placed lots of emphasis on
it...(flying arse over tit out of bed when I realise it’s 7.35 and we need to
leave the house at 7.50)
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| "No photos today darling, I haven't toned and moisturised" |
It would seem, alas,, that my body will never be a temple. Ever. I have only myself and my atrocious will power to blame. All I can do now is ensure I wear sun cream when I'm off galavanting in the Canary Islands, so that Green Peace assume I'm just a slightly peaky Common or Garden Whale and not a new breed "Red-us Flaky-us" (legit. Latin right there) Whale who requires urgent assistance and Green Peace helicopter back up to roll me back to the sea. I'd hate to draw attention to myself. Now fetch beer, food, a comfy chair, and some more food to last me through the month. If I'm going to look like a whale, I might as well do it properly.
