Monday, 14 June 2010
Big pants, big pants, BIG pants
So when I say I was depressed, I was just that. Depressed, deflated, desensitised, debilitated and devalued and above all, dosed.
Quietly, I made my excuses from polite society. Being a busy person, no one questions when you can't make an event; whether it be a coffee, a weekend away or a quick fuck at the end of the night.
My life, like my hair, had transformed from teased to comfortable.
Eyebrows were left unshaped, heels had been replaced by trainers, legs left unwaxed. Somewhere between a wax appointment being cancelled and full-blown hibernation came BIG PANTS. I don't mean spanx or similar practical support pants, and I had to purposefully buy them. Think massive y-fronts belonging to an old man, but on me.
I didn't want to go out, I wanted to stay at home with DVD box sets, fuelled near-exclusively by over-priced chocolate. I couldn't bear to be naked with anyone, but that didn't seem to bother me, because I was safe, cosy and had purchased a new vibrator.
Then came the Spring Bank Holiday and an impromptu invite to an extremely saucy night. Without hesitation, the invite made my clit quiver. A quick trip to the beauty salon and a fancy dress shop was all it took for my libido to reinstate the reins!
From now on, I will always associate big pants with that feeling of anxiety.