The Naked Forty-Something

In preparation for my third date, I go all out. No bristly area is left unwaxed. No dry skin is left unscrubbed and unmoisturized. No inch of cellulite is left un-body-brushed. (Is it towards the heart and clockwise, or away and anticlockwise? I can never remember. And if you do it the wrong way, does it make it worse?)

I do so many squats and lunges I can barely get off the sofa, and my knee gives out going up the stairs. I even attempt yoga in my kitchen, but decide if I want to be alive on my third date, it’s probably best not to try and do a headstand against the fridge because those celebs make it look very easy and it’s not. Plus, I share a house with my landlord and he happened to walk in when I was dismounting; I narrowly missed kicking him in the face.

I’m grateful for:

1. Not passing out in the waxing salon.
2. All those workout videos, which I actually do instead of scrolling past them eating crisps.
3. Mastercard. Whoever said sex was free should look at my credit card receipts.
4. Not breaking Edward’s jaw.
5. Kegels.