‘Dinner en Blanc‘ – a picnic in a secret location, 1,999 fellow revelers, must wear white. White? Yes white! Blanc! Now don’t get me wrong, I love wearing white for it suits my complexion. Unfortunately it also amplifies my dodgy bits – read hail damaged bum, thighs, nana wings, back boobs. Girls y’all hearing me?
A sweet little Broderie Anglaise number later, fake tan, nude heels, glossy lips, all frocked up and feeling fabulous I threw myself into the fun and frivolity. And what an amazing eve, what an experience…and then I viewed the post party happy snaps…Merde!
Yes, Kardashian bums, plus size models, untouched voluptuous, cellulite clad bodies and laughter lines are now ‘de rigueur’ and while I join my sisters in celebrating the liberation of our imperfections, I’m yet to liberate mine. Should have sat up straighter, shed those winter kilos, bought a dress size up, worn a jacket…I sighed as images continued to flood my Facebook feed. But why the harsh self critique?
I’m a singlette. I’m surrounded by loved up friends. And I long to join that happy coupledom brigade. While saying ‘thanks but no thanks’ to a sweet but elderly interested ‘match’ on a dating site earlier that morning, I’d stopped to admire another. This one my age (59). Interesting, attractive, available. Pulse quickening, I read on. ‘Must be age 40 to 45, slim, athletic, between 165 and 170cm’. While his perfect partner precision was both unsettling and amusing, my self-esteem was unsettled and contemplating wine o’clock.
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