Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Don't sacrifice skinny jeans for moskonfyt.

I am notoriously good at avoiding exercise, which is why I am now struggling to fit into my beautiful indigo blue, super soft and stretchy, skinny jeans from Woolies. These are my Holy Grail jeans. They are my fail safe. In times of panic of not knowing what the hell to wear I slip these on and all my fashion related worries disappear.

One such panic took place about a week ago.

The BF who is a photographer, wanted to go see (spend hours drooling over) the Wildlife Photography Exhibition at the Iziko Museum. I have seen this exhibition before and was astounded by it; particularly by the size of bugs’ eyes which I find amazing and totally gross at the same time.

Now the plan was to visit Long Street afterwards. However I hadn’t seen the light of day or the populated city for a matter of weeks, being hunched over one’s laptop scheming ways to force people to read copy and dreaming about business ventures that won’t exist without the monetary help of my father.

So naturally I spent a week in my pyjamas with scary Mel B hair and a case of pimple-itis.

Not so hot.

Now we all know that Long Street is where they breed hipsters.  Even if I wore my most quirky and stylish outfit I would still not measure up to the Hipsters that walk those streets, organic coffee in hand, clothed in vintage and high street gems.

Panic overcame me as I stood nekkid in front of my tres cool rail of clothing. Nothing would fit. Shock Horror. How could this be? I reached for my darling, never let me down, indigo skinnies.

It was painful, like squeezing a fat kid into a Herve Leger dress. The button had to be coaxed into its buttonhole.  

In the few weeks that I spent at home mulling of work, I had managed to pack on enough kilos to make the seams of my jeans stretch dangerously. My thighs were monstrous.

Anyway I managed to find an outfit to wear but still felt like some poppie from Bellville walking Long Street, lost and bewildered by all these ultra-cool fashionistas.

On return home, I went straight to Google where I typed in “beginner’s exercises” “beginner’s fitness” and up came this image and a bunch of others that were for people with muscle tone and space between their thighs.

So the next morning, I put on my gym clothes which are in a sad state. (Pink tennis shoes just don’t cut it.)  Inserted my Ipod into my ears, put my Paramore album on, and followed the instructions. I did more than what they required, in fact I did a few days’ worth of  exercise.

Bad move. I woke up the next morning and my thighs felt like lead, getting out of bed was particularly hilarious. I rolled myself into the sitting position and then the BF yanked me upright.

The message here is to keep fit, even if it’s just to fit into your favourite pair of jeans. Try not to sit around eating moskonfyt all day, like me.


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