The thighs have it- a unanimous vote to wear tights tonight.

“I will wear tights even if it’s 100 degrees outside. Tights are my safety blanket”

I find Zooey Deschanel’s words here rather relateable as I have just battled over potentially wearing a dress without tights tonight to a weird formal/clubbing hybrid to celebrate a clubs 3rd birthday. As the dress code says formal dress the dress is knee length so if I were to ditch the tights I wouldn’t look particularly porky as the offending thighs would still be under wraps. And I did indeed shave my legs as I said I would (it took and hour I’m not even exaggerating, thats an hour I could have spent debating whether to excercise before concluding that I wont). They’re a bit pale but I have fake tan so that’s not a problem. However, the problem is that even if I hide the offending thighs they still cause problems.

I’m talking, dear reader, about the dreaded Chubb-Rub. In the sweaty, steamy budget sauna ambience of said night club there’s a great chance that chubb-rub will indeed happen. If the name doesn’t give any clue as to what this is, its the process of chubby thighs not being far enough apart and thus causing the most god awful chafing burn. I have it on good authority that this happens to a lot of people but I’m sure there’s a pretty positive corelation between thigh size and chafe-rate. And thus it was decided that tights were a necessity tonight.

But what about when summer comes? Well, last summer I invested in some Body Glide anti chafe balm. It was listed online as something for sporty people to buy for running and other such daft activities- I just needed it to walk about for half an hour without burning sensations all up in my legs. And I really would recommend it but you will need to keep topping up, especially if abroad. However, it was whilst abroad that I came up with an ingenious plan which was to be unveiled in the middle of a busy Portugese town. So there we all were, the four best friends on holiday. I use the term best friends very lightly as it was a last minute holiday I ended up tagging along on and by the end of the week one of the girls snapped at me and told me that we weren’t friends we were just “travelling companions”. I never liked her, or her skinny thighs. Although in the heat even she was complaining of rubbing thighs. I then proudly announced that my thighs were completely fine and proptly lifted up my skirt to reveal what I like to call “unter-shorts”. They wre the most hideous pair of shorts that were far too tight to ever be seen in real life. So I utilised their hideousness and wore them under my skirt to act as a thigh divider. So yes, I spent the day positively boiling as I had essentially decided to layer up in the height of the portugese summer and I did occasionally think I may pass out. But that night whilst everyone was smothering themselves in moisturiser, sudocrem and putting ice cold beers on their legs to cool them down and stop the stinging, I was suffering a tremendous case of dehydration and heat stroke

Personally, I find that to be a small victory and will henceforth be investing in many more unter- shorts. Tonight however, as it is also minus 1 outside, I will be using the more conventional method of tights.

So I haven’t shaved my legs in a while…

Yes, I know. Those are obviously mens legs but I didn’t want to take a picture of my own jungle limbs for fear that the picture may follow me around the internet until the end of days. So I feel it’s time I admit that I havent shaved my legs since before Christmas for two reasons. One, I simply can’t be bothered. I get into the shower and shave a little patch or even half a leg but then a feeling of apathy overcomes me and I think “why? I spend my life in jeans or if I’m feeling particularly wild I put on some thick opaque black tights. I currently know of nobody who wants to see me naked and nor do I feel like going and seeking out said gentleman caller. I have no plans to go swimming or do any gymnastics  and have no upcoming appointments with a judgemental gynaecologist” So no. They have remained a furry yeti mass.

The second reason is that my body does not lend itself to ease of hair removal. Firstly, I have unlucky genes (no joke the doctor even told me this) and as a result my hair grows really thick and really fast. Great on my head, not so great on my legs. So the only really effective way of getting the hair off for more than like 2 days is waxing but this is both pricey and time consuming as the surface area of my legs is larger than the average human being. This is a problem with hair removal cream also as it takes one tube to do less than a whole leg so I have to buy 3 at a time which always sparks concerned eyebrows from the cashiers at boots who probably assume I actually just am a yeti and have thick hair all over my body. Incorrect. I actually just resemble Mr Tumnus so enough with your mythical creature assumptions.

So anyway, this leaves me with the only realistic option left, shaving. Now as a child my mother warned me of the dangers of shaving your legs. Shaving cuts, shaving rash, dry skin, that awful red spot thing that makes you look a bit like a plucked chicken, thick wirey regrowth. Yeah, its sucky. Also. I am not a contortionist. I have a small shower cubicle and a large body mass and therefore propping my leg up to shave with greater ease is not an option, nor is having any space to attempt to bend myself every which way to get to all parts of my leg. So the end result is usually a couple of blunted razors, a shaving cut that makes me think I may have cut an artery and a botch job with some patches I just didn’t reach before I let the shower cubicle win. Furthermore to this, the offending thighs as well as being equivalent to a normal persons whole leg (so by the time I’m done I’m a shrivelled pruney woman) also seem to have a funny hair growth pattern. The hair grows every which way at every angle making shaving the offending thighs nigh on impossible.

So that’s why I haven’t shaved my legs since Christmas. However, I’ve bought myself a bottle of bubbly and have dedicated a whole evening to it tonight and it will be done. I may attempt to make some extra money by making the hair into a rug and selling it to a hipster.

My (Brief) experience with exercise

So yesterday I was tricked into doing a full intense cardio DVD with some friends followed by a yoga “cool down” after (my idea of a cool down is a nice chilled glass of wine but alright whatever floats your boat). I say tricked because I was in fact invited over with the promise of doing a “jazzercise” DVD which sounds quite fun right? But when I get there I’m greeted with full on cardio DVDs. Now, seeing as the only cardio I have ever done is run for a bus or train to avoid standing and waiting for the next one, full throttle cardio was probably going to leave me a shell of the woman I once was. If the patronising cow on the DVD telling me to stop being lazy (not even kidding, It’s like she can see me!) wasn’t enough to make me wish I’d stayed at home with my wine, the abs on all the women in the dvd certainly was. I imagine they’re put there as aspirational figures of encouragement but lets be honest, if you’re built like a bus like I am- abs and crazy muscle are just going to make you look like a body builder and so instead I spent the whole workout envying their tiny frames and bone structures rather than aspiring to be them because I’m not naive enough to think that I will EVER keep this up long enough because of how I feel today. That and the fact that after I got home I made myself a microwave prawn curry and poured myself a pint of wine in true Nessa from Gavin & Stacey style (the amount of people who compare me to her is actually incredible)

Moving on to my yoga. Now I have an aversion to yoga already as I find the spiritual element of it to be a load of twaddle and the slow pace of the whole affair makes the ordeal seem longer than is really neccesary. The sight of the male demonstrator in skin tight short shorts was also somewhat vomit inducing so maybe that was put in to put people off food after the work out too? Sadly, not much comes between me and a prawn curry.

I woke to my alarm like any other Friday, but this Friday I was greeted with a pain similar to what i imagine the gravitational pull of a black hole feels like pulling down on my thighs and bum and was unable to move for a good hour. Expecting to walk off the initial work out ache I made my way to the dentist (a horrible experience in itself as without warning I had my teeth pressure cleaned and promptly spat blood on myself whilst nearly choking on it). The pain in the offending thighs and my bum has just got worse and I have retired back to my bed with my bleeding mouth and aching body.

Have managed to find a packet of co-codamol that my grandmother gets on prescription and flogs to the rest of the family so I’m planning on having a couple of those and a nice big goblet of wine for dinner tonight and potentially sleeping until sunday. 

Jeans- a neccessary evil

As someone who finds skirts and dresses a constant challenge to master I find myself more often than not admitting defeat after trying to be “different” with my style and just throwing on a pair of tried and tested jeans and a shirt. I don’t have a problem with this, frankly I think my jeans accentuate my curves in a more “bootylicious” way rather than “sizeable arse” way. Jeans are great. Find a style of jeans that suit you and buy 10 pairs and you’ll be set for life.

Wrong. The reason I call jeans a neccesary evil is because maintaining a steady stream of jeans is expensive business. But why not just buy a couple of pairs thats all you need right? I hear you ask. Well, and I have it on good authority that I am not the only victim of this, with thighs like mine which like to hug each other, eventually the fabric on my thighs starts to wear down and then it’s only a matter of time before the whole shabang just rips. So at this point it would be wise to buy new jeans before exposing yourself. However, I was never blessed with common sense. Normally it’d just be a case of I sat down, oops, jeans are a gonner but its ok cause I’m at home or with my friends and I’m not too fussed if they see my inevitably unshaved legs (come on, who really has time for that crap if they’re wearing jeans? And oh my god shaving with thighs like mine- more on that later. I have a bone to pick with Gilette) but on occasion they have ripped in tremendous fashion. Such as the time I was getting out of my boyfriend at the time’s car and managed to get caught in the seatbelt as I was leaving the car. I promptly fell arse over tit out of the car, ripping one leg of my jeans into what was pretty much hotpants- not a good look for me even in half measures it turns out.

But. despite all jeans doing this too me at some point, I still dutifully return to the shops for more. It’s like going back to a boyfriend who keeps messing you around because you just can’t be bothered to find a more sensible alternative. Saying that, I suppose it’s easier to find a new pair of jeans than a perfect man. I’ll take the denim cheers.

 

Constructive criticisms from my mother

The bond between mother and daughter is a strong one, nobody can deny that. And after all, mother knows best, right? In my case this is regrettably often true when it comes to my appearance. However, whilst most mothers will sugar coat criticisms such as “oh but this dress is much more flattering on your curves” my mum will go to the other extreme and opt for things such as “that shirt gives you back boobs you look like a camel” or my personal favourite “when you wear mini skirts and heels your big build makes you look like a drag queen” which knocked my confidence for the best part of a year when I was met with this at the age of 15.

You see, dear reader, I was a dedicated follower of fashion and had also been cursed with very skinny friends. And also very skinny male friends, meaning that finding a boyfriend who didnt make me look considerably bigger by comparison was a feat I have still yet to conquer. So in my naive youth I convinced myself that I could actually pull off the same outfits as my friends… How wrong I was. As you can see from this delightful snap shot of my ill spent and poorly dressed youth, fancy dress was definitely my downfall as I always opted for the “sexy” outfit which did just make me look like some sort of ageing hooker or indeed a cross dresser. (The offending thighs in full view here too!) Fortunately, not many people saw this particular fashion faux pas as I passed out before I could actually make it to the party.

My mother however, instead of suggesting alternatives would just outright tell me I looked fat and slutty which inspired the rebellious teenager in me to just buy shorter, tighter skirts until she finally caved and offered to buy my clothes for me, a victory for 16 year old me who had never moved out of the likes of new look and primark tack.

So slowly but surely, my mother educated me in how to dress in the harshest way possible. However, I wouldn’t recommend these shock tactics for any mothers reading this whose daughters also have the fashion victim curse but I shall leave you with the words of wisdom for the more than ample lady that really have stuck in my mind –

“Chiffon looks shit on”

Trouble with the curve

Dear reader, I’m going on holiday at the end of April. (Woo lucky me right?) Wrong. Yes It’s 7 days in the sun away from everyday life. Yes it’s going to be a sangria fest if ever there was one, and yes I will be getting my tan on. However, with every foreign holiday comes the most strenuous task for curvy ladies worldwide… the swimwear shop. Now, to start with on my search I decided to just google plus size swimwear on images, despite not being plus size myself I’m defenitely on the bigger end of large. However, first thing I noticed about the plus size models was not the fact that I could relate cause they had chunky thighs like me. Oh no, it was the fact that they, unlike myself, have all been blessed with the most tremendous knockers and all the outfits are focused around “accentuating your womanly curves”. Thats all well and good if you have top AND tail. I however just have an abundance of tail and a crafty collection of expensive push up bras designed to even myself out and stop me from facing the pear I truly am. And I can’t exactly wear them in the pool can I? So I find myself left with only one option. Admit defeat and pull a Nigella

A brief introduction

Hello dear reader and welcome to my blog. A few things I should clear up. Yes, I do in fact have absolutely beautifully slim ankles but this benefit is futile unless I plan on spending my life in full length skirts and dressed or, indeed, have the rest of the leg to match. Instead a cruel combination of genetics on my fathers side has doomed me to tremendously big thighs and a sizeable arse to match. Team that with my little ankles but huge feet and I do somewhat resemble a duck. Secondly, the inspiration behind this blog. After years of saying that when I got older my body would change shape, I finally accepted that I went through puberty years ago and was just cursed with, seemingly permanent, BIIIG thighs, and came to terms with the fact that I would forever have bigger thighs than my mother (something she wont let me forget now that her cankles have appeared and she’s got a chip on her shoulder about those).

I should explain that I don’t have fat thighs, they’re just pure muscle and lots of it. Personally I fancy my thighs chances in the England rugby team. This blog is designed to be an entertaining account of the general inconvenieces of having said thighs from the cursed “chub rub” to the jeans splitting incident which I’ll cover at a later date when I can just about deal with the shame. Along with some other things that happen in my life because I’m really just quite embarassing.

For now I shall leave you with this quote from Evangeline Lilly

“I come from a family of women with big thighs. So be it!”

 

Frankly I find her thighs to be something of mere fantasy for myself and I’m sure many others, but it was a nice quote.