I may be having a midlife crisis but I know where to draw the line when it comes to buying a pair of shorts. Short shorts, for those not in the know, are those skimpy little numbers offering a tantalising glimpse of a well toned bum cheek and quite honestly, unless you are an ex supermodel, they are just not appropriate for a woman of my age. The problem is, the shops where I live are full of them and there doesnt appear to be much else on offer other than a bit of sensible, middle aged, knee length tailoring.
Apparently, one of the first signs that you’re approaching a midlife crisis, is the hiring of a personal trainer and I am not afraid to admit that Jim my personal trainer has made a huge difference to my life. I’m now fitter and stronger than I was ten years ago and I’m hopeful that I have managed to stall the ravages of time for just a little longer and not go shuffling sadly into my twilight years. If I drop dead tomorrow, however, I will be well pissed off but as Jim so nicely put it, at least I’ll look good in the coffin and I won’t need to supersize!
Anyway, back to the shorts. As a consequence of being abused (sorry, encouraged) by Jim and his circuit training, I think my legs are in quite good shape. I have dieted, exfoliated and anti cellulited, (Temple Spa do a mean anti lumpy bumpy cellulite lotion) and body brushed, massaged and lathered myself with aromatic oils. But as I stand next to a nubile, taught skinned teen something in Top Shop who probably thinks I’m shopping for my daughter, I know I’m kidding myself. .Mutton dressed as lamb springs to mind along with visions of Madonna depressingly clad in black leather and if Mr Derbyshire saw them he might actually ban me from going. I might be heading to Ibiza with a sister who has just accidentally dyed her hair orange but I know my limits. Smiling maternally at the nubile, I place the offending items back on the rail. I think I’ll leave the short shorts to the gorgeous leggy Amelia and on this occasion act my age.
One more sleep!