the vandals took the handles
I am still not watching TV!
Well, OK, I cheated a little. Last night I watched 19 minutes of 'How to Look Good Naked', a programme which I initially found very watchable, because it's quite jolly, it's quite a body-friendly concept (and because there's bugger-all else on a Tuesday night). Slowly, slowly however I found my conscience pricking me. Does one really have to have a manicure and a pedicure to look OK in the naked? Is it honestly not OK to go out of the house immaculately made up and accessorised? Do I have to wear high heels in order to feel good about myself? Don't misunderstand me, I enjoy doing all of the above when I am in the mood for them, but somewhere in the back of my head is a nagging voice whispering accusingly 'This programme is little better than those 1950's edicts on how you should greet your husband at the door with a happy smile, which we supposedly enlightened women like to laugh at. It's a jumped-up Before and After feature in a cheap magazine, and you my girl are falling for it'.
I'd like to say that 19 minutes into the undeniably charming presenter Gok telling the latest woman that without her terrible grey underwear she really could be attractive, my inner feminist rose up and turned off the TV because she could Take It No Longer. I'd be lying, I'm afraid. What actually happened was I decided that sitting in the garden watching the distant fork lightening and waiting for the thunderstorm and its accompanying rain to hit my house would be far more interesting, as the unbending formula of the programme has begun to bore me. I expect he fed her knickers to some garden equipment after I'd gone.
The rain denied all expectations and didn't hit until 10pm, at which point I sat up in bed naked (sans pedicure and 'natural' make-up, I'm afraid) and hung my head out of the window to listen to it pounding down into the garden. It was well worth the wait.
Well, OK, I cheated a little. Last night I watched 19 minutes of 'How to Look Good Naked', a programme which I initially found very watchable, because it's quite jolly, it's quite a body-friendly concept (and because there's bugger-all else on a Tuesday night). Slowly, slowly however I found my conscience pricking me. Does one really have to have a manicure and a pedicure to look OK in the naked? Is it honestly not OK to go out of the house immaculately made up and accessorised? Do I have to wear high heels in order to feel good about myself? Don't misunderstand me, I enjoy doing all of the above when I am in the mood for them, but somewhere in the back of my head is a nagging voice whispering accusingly 'This programme is little better than those 1950's edicts on how you should greet your husband at the door with a happy smile, which we supposedly enlightened women like to laugh at. It's a jumped-up Before and After feature in a cheap magazine, and you my girl are falling for it'.
I'd like to say that 19 minutes into the undeniably charming presenter Gok telling the latest woman that without her terrible grey underwear she really could be attractive, my inner feminist rose up and turned off the TV because she could Take It No Longer. I'd be lying, I'm afraid. What actually happened was I decided that sitting in the garden watching the distant fork lightening and waiting for the thunderstorm and its accompanying rain to hit my house would be far more interesting, as the unbending formula of the programme has begun to bore me. I expect he fed her knickers to some garden equipment after I'd gone.
The rain denied all expectations and didn't hit until 10pm, at which point I sat up in bed naked (sans pedicure and 'natural' make-up, I'm afraid) and hung my head out of the window to listen to it pounding down into the garden. It was well worth the wait.
posted by Cheerful One at 9:02 pm
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