It is time, I feel, to hang up my bikini. Possibly for good, possibly not. But definitely for the moment.
My massively over-structured, brightly coloured boob-hammocks are to be consigned to the back of the knicker drawer for the rest of days. Or until such time when I win the lottery and I can have a personal trainer 3 days a week then I’ll be fit and lean. I shall then prance around without any worry of my muffin top knocking out a small child in the vicinity or the elastic on the highly-engineered-ultra-strained bikini top finally giving way and displaying my norks for everyone to see.
This is purely a vanity thing. I’m not fat. But I am bored of being in a bikini and walking around with one arm around my slightly wibbly-wobbly tummy bit. After a wedding, a couple of weeks ago, there was only one way…
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