Had a cheeky overnight break for one this week, far from the madding crowd ‘me time’. Not being the most reliable of social buddies recently, due to health issues, it was a good plan, if I had to cancel, I’d be only disappointing myself. Finding a midweek bargain in the first week of January, on a lastminute website was easy peasy and I happily drove myself towards my destination. In my boot was a bright pink case, accompanied by a smaller bag, containing swimming gear, flip flops to avoid unwelcome athlete’s foot or the dreaded verruca, shoes to accompany the dress I had packed, should I decide to brave the restaurant alone, boots, for the trousers in the pink case, should bar food be the choice of the evening, hair dryer to straighten my curly hair (hotel hair dryers cannot always be relied on), ghds to give that added sleek look, lap top bag and handbag, all for an overnight stay. That’s how I rock! Imagine what I pack for a week or two away, especially abroad. I recall a ground hostess in Dublin airport many years ago, smiling as I put the family suitcase on the scales, for a girly week away and asking ‘Leaving for good are we?’
Once checked in to the hotel, I unpacked in my lovely room and after a little rest, decided to make use of the spa facilities. Opting for changing in my bedroom, I put on my red swimsuit, cautiously looking in the full length mirror, without my glasses, sure I couldn’t wear those into the pool. Mind you, even without them, I could see the vastness of my thighs but, on the plus side, I couldn’t see the cellulite and sure, if you can’t see it, it isn’t there. Result!!
Making my way downstairs in flip flops, I was thankful to have thought to paint my toenails that morning. The big toe had proudly peeked out of my favourite socks at a doctor’s appointment earlier and though I was happy that it had at least been freshly varnished, I was gutted that these cherished woolen foot warmers had suffered the same fate as their less attractive neighbours in my sock drawer.
The nice gent on the pool reception was chatty and enthusiastically handed me, not one but two towels. I was feeling very pampered indeed until I opened them only to realise that he probably thought that I needed two, to cover the vastness of not only my thighs but my entire bod.
Not to be deterred, being a lifer where the battle of the bulge is concerned, I removed the clothing I had worn to the spa and placed it in a locker, together with the two towels for one. Confidently walking across the pool area, specs free, so therefore cellulite free, I eased my body into the jacuzzi. Luckily, I remembered from previous visits to this hotel, that the step of this jacuzzi was very steep, which can be a challenge to a prosthetic knee, so, slowly easing in, I managed to look, well, graceful might be pushing it but less awkward would just about cover it. Finding a comfortable spot, I was pleased to notice that vast as I was, there were even more vast individuals to my right and left. Then don’t we always think others are bigger than us, until the proof is in the pud, quite literally, being the actual pud in a photo especially just after Christmas. You think the Christmas pud is gone, eaten by everyone and then you spot yourself and think, ‘Oh my God, there she is, the Christmas pud is alive and well’. Then there’s the excuse that the camera adds 10 pounds, who are we kidding? Thank God for apps that airbrush and minimise, literally. Of course there was a woman of natural svelte appearance in the jacuzzi, no minimising app needed, no airbrushing of any kind, with or without my glasses.
Now as vast as some of my jacuzzi buds may have been, both male and female, there didn’t seem to be a bit of cellulite on them either, but sure that could have been due to my impaired vision. Thank God for Mother Nature, accommodating us in our maturing years, as our bodies head south, no matter what size. There are the exceptions to the rule, I have met them, even liked them but that’s another story for another time.
No self respecting jacuzzi is complete without a hot male bod frequenting it and I was delighted to see, not one but several, leave the steam room, grab some water from the machine and while some carried on to the sauna, one in particular, opted for the jacuzzi. Tattoos decorated some of his body parts, well most of his body was visible, ahem.. but not all covered in tattoos. The necessary parts were covered in speedos, just about, while a strange looking contraption was around his ankle. ‘Jaysus’, I thought, ‘Is this fella wearing a tag?’. So much for being a hot young thing, he’s likely hot out of the joint. I soon realised that I was just a silly aul one, sure he wasn’t wearing a tag at all, he had his locker key on a band, which he cleverly wore on his ankle. ‘Ah’ I thought, ‘hot in the right way and clever into the bargain’. Sure he may not have been hot at all, he could have been a minger but sure just as the cellulite doesn’t exist if you can’t see it, if he looks hot with impaired vision, he is hot. A bit like when we have our beer goggles on when we’re filling our hollow legs in the local and snog a minger, thinking he’s a ride (very attractive person).
The right type of goggles come in handy in these situations, especially if the hottie goes into the pool area and you can legitimately wear your prescription swimming ones to get a proper look. Mind you I have used these particular goggles in the jacuzzi myself in the past. You see, I love to read in the jacuzzi, it’s so relaxing, but I found that my glasses got steamed up and sometimes even fell in. The goggles are feckin amazing, once you’re not trying to pull a hottie. It’s just not a good look. Best to sit in the jacuzzi, red lipstick matching costume, curly hair pinned up, only the cleavage and head visible, hoping the hottie gets out before you.
Those prescription goggles come in very handy underwater in the pool too, not only to see where you’re going, but to catch the speedo views speeding by at close range. Not that I’ve ever done that, my bulging swimming specs are solely to avoid bumping into any other swimmers.
Having watched the hottie leave the pool area, I decided it was time for some underwater activity so off I trotted to the pool, careful not to wear any sight enhancing equipment until I was safely in the water, thereby avoiding cellulite distress. While there wasn’t a hottie in sight, the water provided a wonderfully relaxing feeling, as always and I enjoyed every minute. Some time later, having alighted from the pool, I made my way to the changing rooms to shower and have a two towel dry off. Once the deed was done, rinsing my swimwear, I squeezed the bathing suit over the sink to get rid of as much water as possible. Deciding that putting back on a bra under my jumper, was too much trouble, as it was only a short distance to the lift, I walked out the door. Mother of Divine Jesus, the sight that met me needed no specs, there were so many hot bods, all queueing for the clothes spinner at once. Whether it was a bikini, one piece, speedos, swimming shorts, this was the place to ring them out and the lads were queueing to do just that. Suddenly conscious of my gravity challenged boobies, I stepped back out of sight, or so I thought. One of the hotties, now fully dressed, so I couldn’t decipher whether it was hot tub hottie or not, offered for me to go before him. In fairness, he looked like he had his weekly wash in his arms, which I commented on, with a smile and gratefully, taking my turn, or rather, his turn, spun out my ‘little red number’….I wish….threw my two towels in the spa laundry and hastily walked through the door.
Giggling all the way along the corridor, ample boobies plopping with the effort, I waited patiently for the lift. Suddenly, I heard a male voice shouting ‘Excuse me’ and turning, noticed weekly wash hot guy, walking up the corridor towards me. ‘Oh Jesus’, I thought ‘what can he want’? ‘A date’, a little devil whispered inside me, ‘no need to go to that speed dating event now, even if it is on my bucket list’. He did in his arse! ‘Here’, he said with a cheeky grin, handing me a large grey looking bra, ‘I think you dropped this’. Well, as the colour rose in my cheeks, I looked that hot young fella straight in the eye and lied through my teeth. ‘Nah, that’s not mine, thanks anyway, mine is a black lacy one’ I muttered and thanked the Lord that the lift door opened at that very moment. Silently I cursed the fact that I had indeed got a lacy black bra, but had forgotten to pack it…so guess who was going to have to let those floppy boobies hang out for the rest of the stay, never mind dinner in the restaurant in heels, bar food in boots, it’d be room service for this aul one, unless I was prepared to let them all hang out!!