I’m just back from Aqua Zumba, or synchronised drowning as I like to call it. I’m not terribly light on my feet or coordinated, especially when your arms are expected to go one way whilst one leg kicks, the other bends and you’re supposed to be shaking what your Mama gave you all at once.
It’s bloody good fun though. The instructor is batshit crazy and she forces everyone to sing along and makes the greatest facial expressions I’ve ever seen (literally, think about what your sex face looks like and turn it up to 11) and in places it almost feels like I’m in the pool at Kellerman’s and Baby is somewhere in a corner as someone croons about doing a Mambo. Plus it means I can unleash my inner Goddess safely under the water without anyone seeing me galumphing about like an elephant or seeing (or worse, HEARING!) my flabby thighs clap together.
Except after tonight I can never return, EVER.
If you follow me on Twitter, you’ll know I’ve spent the last few pool visits rather worried about the state of my swimming costume, or rather the state of my boobs in my costume having lost more weight since I bought it. I really should have just got my act together and bought a new costume as the one I have is really only adequate for lying on a beach sipping cocktails whilst reading a trashy novel but it’s been doing it’s best for a while now. I think it’s time to kiss it goodbye however as it seems that it can cope with keeping my wabs under wraps during your bog standard aquafit class but add in a shimmy and a shake and all of a sudden in feels very draughty to the chest and you realise your right boob is flapping in the wind.
THANK FUCK I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE POOL! The water was up to my underboob and I was thankfully facing away from the two lifeguards but still…. MORTIFYING.
First thing tomorrow I’ll be tracking down a new swimming costume so that Mary-Kate and Ashley will stay covered up and it’ll be safe to get back in the water.