Riding the Little Red Sisterhood

It was another desperate attempt to look like Miranda Kerr, Megan Gale and Samantha Harris, walking along the beach, at 6.55 this morning...freezing my entrails and ponytails.
 

(YES a SUNDAY, sleep-in day, Lazy Day, God's given Day of Rest...but I'm Catholic and felt guilty about the fact that I was enjoying a moment of hibernation under my fluffy, white doona, all snuggly and warm with my beloved ginger rescue-kitten tangled in my hair, purring contentedly).

I braved the darkness of the dawn.

I had to burn more calories. The chronic lack of "potentials' in a single girl's life screams at me, "Too fat, too puffy, too awful!! Fat girls don't get phone numbers..."

Ergghhh Mah Gaahhhd, I have GOT to burn some butter. The last time I was taken out for dinner was over 7 months ago. And there wasn't a second date. Sad face. Sad, sad weeping face. Sigh!

Right, wiggle wiggle wiggle into the Lorna Jane's and forage in the darkness for the iPhone, a set of vaguely useable earphones and some shiny uplifting music to do this "get thin" thing. Ooooh, Ellie Goulding's "Anything Could Happen"...PERFECT.

 

Did I mention I was freezing my entrails and ponytails? Holy Game of Thrones. A Song of Fire and ICE. Brrrrrr!!! Fool that I am, I'd dressed for the occasion in a mere few threads of lycra.

Jaysus!!! Winter wandering on the beach; sounds romantic, is not romantic. Is just cold.

COLD COLD COLD.

Last night one of my favourite people in the WHOLE world sent me a YouTube video of a clip where the women are so beautiful and they sing and take off their makeup and they're just as beautiful.

I have to admit my egotistical self was quite irritated by the clip at the time. 

Real women, who've been harried by work and kids and divorce 

and constant rejection and insult and insomnia

 do not look good any which way you try to jazzy it up.

Yet, when I dragged the albatross-of-self out of bed in the the dark and walked out to the beach this morning I quite liked myself.

I didn't have any make up on.
I was wearing really bad clothes and not enough of them.
Lord knows what happened to my hair. The kitten was quite possibly still entangled.
I even had to wear my little son's greying school sports socks, because mine had wandered off someplace warmer.

And I started to understand a little better, how irrelevant my lopsided, awkward face is.
My frizzy, uncontrollable hair was of no consequence.
My unacceptable and embarrassing figure did not matter one bit, down there on the beach as the sun crept across the sea.

Because I was only going for a walk. In my time. On my own business.

I wasn't going to be judged; I wasn't on show. And quite frankly, the only person who looks like Miranda Kerr, walking along the beach is Miranda Kerr, walking along the beach.

EVERY SINGLE OTHER WOMAN ON THE PLANET WILL NOT LOOK LIKE THAT.

And nor will I.

And I quite liked myself when I realised that.

And I quite liked myself for doing something really horrible and hard (and cold...).

So I smiled to myself and hummed (very very very softly, so as not to be mistaken for a weirdie out there in the dark....)

And towards me power-walked another chick, who looked just as uninspired and uncomfortable and cold as I felt, out there in the dark, trying to burn calories.

Hoodie up. Big sunnies on. Earphones in. Defensive face on.

So I smiled.

And I received the biggest, warmest grin of Sisterhood in Unity I have ever known.

Ha.