The thigh’s the limit!
After my morning session with Paul at Evans Cycles on the Hill, lunch with my Skinny Friend. I tell her I have been shopping. We often talk about this sort of therapy, and are sometimes even honest about how much we have really spent. It relieves the guilt or do we just re-live the thrill. I tell her that, unusually, I did not get a high from my morning’s purchases. She sympathises and tells me in order to console me and show me that there is still hope to be had from this absurd endeavour that she thinks Stella McCartney may make expensive cycling wear.
Skinny Friend doesn’t think she can fit in 300 kms on a bicycle although she would love to. She tells me that she cycled recently (and I thought I knew everything about her) on the Isle of Sky, Man, Silly or somewhere and that it was wonderful. “After a day”, she says, “I didn’t have any wobbly bits on my thighs”. I nod as if I know what she is talking about, but think that Skinny Friend does not have and has never had any wobbly bits on her thighs or any where else. “You will become so trim and tight”, she trills. This sounds so wonderful, that I decide to order dessert.
Later that afternoon, I speak to Not-So-Skinny-Friend. She tells me that she has had a matrimonial with her husband. She has just told him that she is about to have another puppy. They already have the cast of Pride and Prejudice at home and a bitch. Despite the fact that like the Phillimore Firecracker’s husband, her husband is also into S&M and has multiple partners (where do I find these people?) he has reacted soooo badly to the announcement that she thinks he may be jealous, as he isn’t the father of the idea. To share with her the fact that she is not alone to have problems I tell her about my charity cycle ride.
“You poor thing” she exclaims “all that cycling will give you enormous thighs!”
I swallow. I have just had a hugely calorific dessert in anticipation of losing all my wobbly bits and now I am being told that I will have even meatier thighs than my current thunderers. Fancy My Luck (FML is an expression often used by the Chuckle Brothers to whom I’ve given birth ) trying to raise £10,000 thereby probably losing what friends I had, and if I fail to raise the dosh having to share a single bed and my rations with the Phillimore Firecracker, submitting myself to boring, exhausting and sweaty exercise, endangering my life on a bike on real roads, calluses on my hands, shopping that just feels like expenditure and on top of all that big-ger thighs! What have I let myself in for?
I will have to see who is right on the thigh stakes/steaks: Skinny Friend or Not-So-Skinny-Friend. A tape measure will clearly be an essential tool in this experiment. And if Not-So Skinny-Friend is right, is it reversible?
After my morning session with Paul at Evans Cycles on the Hill, lunch with my Skinny Friend. I tell her I have been shopping. We often talk about this sort of therapy, and are sometimes even honest about how much we have really spent. It relieves the guilt or do we just re-live the thrill. I tell her that, unusually, I did not get a high from my morning’s purchases. She sympathises and tells me in order to console me and show me that there is still hope to be had from this absurd endeavour that she thinks Stella McCartney may make expensive cycling wear.
Skinny Friend doesn’t think she can fit in 300 kms on a bicycle although she would love to. She tells me that she cycled recently (and I thought I knew everything about her) on the Isle of Sky, Man, Silly or somewhere and that it was wonderful. “After a day”, she says, “I didn’t have any wobbly bits on my thighs”. I nod as if I know what she is talking about, but think that Skinny Friend does not have and has never had any wobbly bits on her thighs or any where else. “You will become so trim and tight”, she trills. This sounds so wonderful, that I decide to order dessert.
Later that afternoon, I speak to Not-So-Skinny-Friend. She tells me that she has had a matrimonial with her husband. She has just told him that she is about to have another puppy. They already have the cast of Pride and Prejudice at home and a bitch. Despite the fact that like the Phillimore Firecracker’s husband, her husband is also into S&M and has multiple partners (where do I find these people?) he has reacted soooo badly to the announcement that she thinks he may be jealous, as he isn’t the father of the idea. To share with her the fact that she is not alone to have problems I tell her about my charity cycle ride.
“You poor thing” she exclaims “all that cycling will give you enormous thighs!”
I swallow. I have just had a hugely calorific dessert in anticipation of losing all my wobbly bits and now I am being told that I will have even meatier thighs than my current thunderers. Fancy My Luck (FML is an expression often used by the Chuckle Brothers to whom I’ve given birth ) trying to raise £10,000 thereby probably losing what friends I had, and if I fail to raise the dosh having to share a single bed and my rations with the Phillimore Firecracker, submitting myself to boring, exhausting and sweaty exercise, endangering my life on a bike on real roads, calluses on my hands, shopping that just feels like expenditure and on top of all that big-ger thighs! What have I let myself in for?
I will have to see who is right on the thigh stakes/steaks: Skinny Friend or Not-So-Skinny-Friend. A tape measure will clearly be an essential tool in this experiment. And if Not-So Skinny-Friend is right, is it reversible?
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