Now I know that summer is officially over in the UK (excuse me whilst I go and have a little cry cuddling my sun cream and clinging on to my beach bag for dear life) but for the lucky few, there still a holiday on the horizon.
For the even luckier, there’s a sunny holiday on the horizon. And you know what a sunny holiday means? Bikinis. And do know what a bikini means? Sheer, bloody, panic.
Why are you panicking Sam? I hear you ask. Well, up until a month ago at least, my body wasn’t what we’d call ‘bikini ready’.
If your a female who’s ever read a magazine, watched television or graced the internet with your presence, you’ll have a rough idea what bikini ready might mean.
After a winter of overeating, barely exercising and being a little too optimistic about how many calories there are in a Big Mac, things had to change. If I was going to put my bum into a bikini for the world to see, I had to be smart.
First: I went and brought a bikini. I’d been so scared of them for years (basically since I hit puberty) the only two piece I had knocking about was a Minnie Mouse number – I’m not sure that would have gone down too well by the pool in Ibiza!
Second: I checked I had a body. With all this terror over the bikini, I just had to check quickly that I still had the body I was born with. Yep, there it was, in all its lumpy, bumpy glory, it was there.
Third: I put the bikini on. I know, pretty scary times.
After realising that my (albeit large) bottom could keep the bikini on itself, and my hands could string together the beautiful criss-cross back I’d gone for – I knew I was in business.
After lots of careful consideration in the mirror, eyeing up my oversized thighs and slightly jelly-like arms, I came to the conclusion that my body was bikini ready. This is my body and I’m going to wear a god damn bikini.
It’s ready…stretch marks, cellulite and all.