We invested in sports bras for this holiday. The plan was to make it more comfortable to be covered up, but I keep wanting to reveal mine. I look as hard as Hilary Swank. Pow pow pose.
In the boxing film not Boys Don't Cry obs. This morning we stood in front of our 4 star hotel floor length mirrors feeling very Xena in the face of the hotel manager's coy warnings about India's latest public transport incidents. Well, I'm Xena. Ro looks like a netball player in her sports bra so she obs has to be Gabrielle.
Bob promised me that my luxury body would just chisel itself off my stomach this holiday, but so far the only thing moving is drips of germ free keralan curry down my top. It's been nearly a week and neither of us has been hospitalised. I've been brushing my teeth with tap water, sucking pens I've dropped on the street, feasting on train food, but to no avail. At this rate it'll be more useful for me to go back to England and eat those yogurts hiding at the back of Granny's fridge since December to sick up that last stone. Kerala is just too clean!
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