5 Unavoidable Stages of Holiday Prep

1. Hair Growth and Consequent Hair Removal

I was due to get waxed two weeks ago. I didn’t. I last got waxed six weeks ago. I have one week until I go on holiday. I won’t be getting waxed until next week. You do the math. {B(U+5)HY} The need to be as bald as a baby (not a wholly accurate simile, some babes escape the womb looking like Cousin Itt) on holiday is all too real. I couldn’t commit to getting waxed two weeks ago because, by my calculations, that would mean that I’d be poolside rocking three weeks worth of growth. Yup. I’m all for letting your bodily fibres grow free and roam your body like untamed forests – if that’s your grassy groove – but my preference is far more naked mole rat than average alley rat, so you understand my punani predicament. The same goes for my leg hair. Ordinarily, I see nothing wrong with a razor. Yet, in the glorious, yellow, unclouded light of a holiday, I scoff at the sight of the thing (‘A razor? For moi? Zis vill not do! Non, non, NON’), adamant that my legs deserve better. And by ‘better’ I mean they deserve to have their trusty tresses ruthlessly ripped from their roots by a trained professional wielding a tiny wooden weapon. All in pursuit of sensually slinky limbs. But, on a level, where is the logic, really? On average, I go on holiday once every two years. For the overwhelming number of days that I’m not on holiday (730, FYI, I got Google to do the math) I roam the streets perfectly at ease with my legs not being shaven above knee-level and completely certain that my post-wax poon needn’t be hidden below sea-level. So, why all the effort? Why do we mercilessly extract all our body fur, all at once, simply to lay poolside surrounded by people we’re almost certainly never going to see again? Do we aim to attain an unattainable level of hairlessness, in a bid to simultaneously achieve an awesome and even tan? Am I subconsciously looking for a mate, whilst holidaying with my current mate? Is it the pressure piled on us as women to adhere to a bullshit level of appearance? Can I somehow blame the media? I JUST DON’T KNOW. All I know is that I like to be hair-free, on holiday more than ever; but fuck me, is it a pain in the waxed asshole. How does one possibly make the most of fuzz-free appendages? I shan’t be surprised if, upon swan-diving into the pool, I am like a slippery fish. I will probably be in that pool all week, unable to halt the slithering of my friction-less body.53623a88a134ddba61d11f384f4b9f8d

2. Paleness (see also ‘Ghostliness’)

Oh, dear Mother and Father: couldn’t at least one of you have had the sensibility to ensure me a peregrine genealogy? I put the ‘glo’ in Anglo, my Snow White skin is that luminous. Must I forever roam this earth as crystalline as the Milky Bar Kid himself? With a great tan comes great responsibility and, having not been exposed to any ‘proper’ sun for a few years, I know this to be all too true. I fake tan regularly. Sorry, I mean ‘religiously’. Below said fake tan lies the whitest skin you ever saw. The problem with having booked a holiday (ha! how very #firstworld of me) is that I must now shed my many hibiscus layers and offer my translucent skeletal covering to the Sun Gods. Sun God of mercy, please look kindly on your scorched servant. It’s *almost* enough to make me not want to go on holiday; that’s how maniacal I am about the matter. My bronzed senselessness is only slightly topped by my need to prance about foreign streets in fabulous frocks and make the most of my intricate swimwear. I could potentially get away with wearing my ‘kinis at Carnival but I fear they won’t see the light of day otherwise, and THAT would be a crime against my marvellous maillot de bains’. I will, without doubt, be using my 20kg weight allowance to its full capacity; 20kg worth of fake tan is enough for a week, right?tumblr_n5l00sVkkW1qj4315o1_500

3. The ‘Holiday Wardrobe’, A.K.A. The Holidrobe
A.K.A An Excuse To Invest In Impractical Swimwear, Beachwear, Footwear, Day-wear, Evening-wear, Sleep-wear, Gym-wear, Maternity-wear, and so on and so forth…

Have I just invented a word? I think I have. I digress… The finery fanatical among us will simply find any excuse to ‘invest’ in fresh attire. I can justify all of 2K13’s outgoings with a solitary sentence: If I don’t wear it at home, I’ll *definitely* wear it on holiday. May I remind you that I had no holiday booked in 2k13. Or 2k14. But I *will* wear those garms on 2k15’s holibobs. You see? Justified. I, very recently, used that same sentence to give myself the go ahead to ‘invest in’ an Alice McCall romper. Do I feel good about it? No. I feel fucking GREAT about it. Clothes are my Kryptonite. Duds are to me what cookies are to the Cookie Monster, what donuts are to Homer and what pizza is to the Turtles (of the teenage mutant ninja variety). And there is simply no finer time to add a little pazazz to your ‘drobe than when a holiday is on the horizon. New Years is also a fab time for a refresh. I find that birthdays are a good time, too. And Easter, because you need some clothes that are a little ‘roomier’ to accommodate for the constant consumption of cocoa. And also any sales period, because bargains. I could go on.6a012876c6c7fb970c01bb0826b14c970d-500wi

4. The Curating and Packing of The Holidrobe

You’ve just ceremoniously and prematurely spunked all of next years wages on the dreamiest, ethereal, bohemian threads known to mankind (indeed, sewn by mankind), only to find that they don’t fit in your suitcase. Or his suitcase. Nor do they fit in hand luggage. And, after having forked out the equivalent of a house deposit on the garms, you can’t possibly afford to fork out some more for extra luggage allowance. I mean, ordinarily you’d try, but the eagle-eyed boyf is all too aware that you’ve already spent most of your money and his money (mainly his), and wouldn’t take kindly to you blowing anymore on excess luggage. Damn it. Upon realising your devastating dilemma, you enlist your neighbours and their slightly rounded relatives to all come and stand on your suitcase whilst you do the only work-out you’re sure to partake in pre-holibob: you’re in charge of zipping up that bulging bad boy. Honestly, one does not require the gym when life’s daily tasks are exercise enough. Working tirelessly on your traps? I suggest you throw some costume jewellery round your neck; you’ll notice a difference after one hour, tops. Needless to say, the neighbourhood weight watch didn’t work. Now the hard work truly begins: you have to decide which threads get left behind. Good luck with that…tumblr_mw694fGEzw1ql5yr7o1_500

5. The Wearing of The Bikini
(intentional capitalisation of ‘the’ to signify the unparalleled significance of this moment)

I’ve spent a total of one night tossing and turning over the imminent arrival of day I have to step my pale and hairless legs into a bikini. The holiday has only been booked for one night, otherwise I’d have certainly been tossing and turning for far longer. And now I’m faced with the same daunting dilemma I faced last time I had to don a bathing suit: to squat or not to squat, that is the question? My mind is telling me no. But my body. My body is telling me FUCKING HELL YES DAISY SQUAT YOUR UNTONED ASS OFF. I drop my trousers and look in the mirror at the current state of my posterior and a war of the mind ensues: ‘Hm. Not as bad as I thought. Could be peachier though, Daisy. You can do better than this. Sure, it’s not the *worst* it’s ever been. And your thighs have undoubtedly improved since you gave up your 3-bowls-of-pasta-a-day hype. Remember that hype, Daisy? Oh yes. At a meagre 5’5″ you topped the scales at 10 stone 10 pounds and convinced yourself that your newly-formed stretch marks were a result of squatting along to Davina’s Workout DVD. What blissful ignorance you once lived in. And you know what? You can live in that beautifully rounded ignorance again! You’ve lived with this ass for 730 days. You like it. The boyf likes it. You are, by definition, beach body ready. You have a body and you can take it to a beach. Yep, your ass is JUST FINE. Superb, actually. Go make a cuppa and grab us a Twirl, will you.’ Guess that’s that, then.giphy (1)

While we’re on the subject, here’s a majestic mash-up of all the funky-ass threads I wish I was packing for my holibob. Sadly, my suitcase is full of Palmers Tan. #priorities #pieandfashxpalmers #ifyourenamesnottanyourenotcomingin

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