Today it was very hot so I decided to be brave and wear shorts. This is brave because I am pasty white like a vampire, and not even Hot-Vampire-Pasty-White, just stupid pasty white like a person who never tans. And I try and get all superior about it and say ‘eeew, tans, so bad for you!’ but this is because I don’t have one.
But I thought I would practice wearing shorts and get over the whole pasty white thing and then I realised that pastiness was the least of my worries because every time I sat down my thigh rippled like a golf ball. And in case I am drowning in metaphor too much here (get it!?) what I am talking about people is CELLULITE. And there I am on the train rippling and trying to spread my bag all over my lap to cover it up and failing miserably and feeling terribly self conscious especially when a bunch of girls got on said train looking all annoyingly un-pasty and toned. Bitches.
I realise I was probably the only person in the whole world who noticed my golf ball thigh. But this is not the point. One person is enough to notice and so what if that person was me.
Luckily I was only going to my parent’s house, and it’s kind of the rule that parents think you look beautiful no matter what you look like, but I don’t think I’m going to manage shorts around anybody who is not immediate family anymore. It just stresses me out too much.