So at the moment I am in Split, Croatia. It's unbelievably beautiful and despite the locals indifference I have to do a double take every morning when I check the weather out from our hotel balcony. Speaking of the hotel actually, we're staying at the Radisson Blu which means I have had to put my classy face on; making an effort not to look like a bridge troll in the morning by putting on makeup before someone has to see me and even bothering to wash my hair before the dreaded three-day unwashed matted look hits, where my hair gets so greasy it just sticks to me - sexy I know. However despite my efforts to be pretty for the camera apparently my outfits have not been so appreciated and I've been asked several times if I'm russian. Now, due to my lack of fur wearing and clear love of the english language I'm going to have to put those false assumptions to my wearing heels despite the snow and skirts that probably wouldn't cover much if I didn't have dwarf legs....Speaking of short skirts though, today mum forced us to go bike riding around Split. With my having only packed dresses and skirts for the trip, bike riding probably wasn't the best idea, but with my having no understanding of what the locals were saying to me (probably something along the lines of 'your skirt is up around your shoulders right now...') we were off and riding. Now, I'm not ashamed to say that it took me till the age of seven to learn how to ride a bike, despite the normal age being 3-4...Whilst I may look elegant and graceful, appearances are deceiving and today I proved that by failing to ride a bike in spite of more than six years of dance lessons, horse riding and other balancing acts. Just because they say 'it's like riding a bicycle, you never forget' does not make the saying true and I managed not only to faceplant it into the snow, but to stack it several more times in order to leave my body thoroughly battered and bruised. In my defence though, whilst I learnt at 7, I probably only rode a bike three or four times between the years of 2002-4 before giving up completely, having finally realised that riding a bike is a clear sign that the rider has a death wish and wants their bits to be in physical pain all the time (I mean seriously, could those seats BE any more uncomfortable?!?!)
With every part of me crying out in pain I could have gone a massage, I had my first one ever yesterday and it made me deeply uncomfortable. Anyone who knows me will know two main things a) I hate nudity and b) I hate randoms (and even non-randoms sometimes) touching me - put these two things together and you have yourself a massage. Now I don't know if it was the Barry White playing softly in the background or the abrupt way the woman told me to get my gear off but I freaked. 'No you taking the skirt off now,' she ordered - I honestly thought she was just gonna rip my clothes off me in the end she was getting so frustrated by my prudishness, then came the touching....the fondling actually. The whole thing went for two hours, with me trying to make small talk and her telling me to 'just relax,' like some precursor to a horror movie, it's easy to say - I was tense. Maybe watching final destination 5 before the massage wasn't such a good idea...
Well I think I've written enough for one day and it has been twenty minutes since I last ate....better get back to work.
Hope all is well.
No comments:
Post a Comment