So I caved in and bought Grazia magazine the other day. Spring is coming, and I need to study shoes and sandals, possibly handbags. Mmmm, I thought, Delicious! But picking up the mag I saw there was an insert included, another magazine rather, and thought Oh tops it's Grazia Casa so I can get into gardening mood which is going to take more than a push and shove (of my mower as well).
But then I saw it was Grazia UOMO and groaned. Grazia MAN. Oh well for one euro ninety I could leave it around for my jeans-below-the-bum sons.
Now while I wait for my obstinate computer to download I have been flicking through it. Oh my goodness! What has happened to the Italian man? Have I always been so blind? Fine, I love gay men and their delicate taste, but who are all these girly guys??
Flipping past the young things I have been trying to find a mature Italian male only to find - what? Tanned faces and stylish wrinkles, flat eyes and flawless shoes, rolled up trousers and not a yacht in sight?!
What a festival of vanity! Is it because I have been too long in the mountains with messy-haired men with panda tans? With their gorgeous wrinkles and steely thighs?
And worse - or even more twisted - am I wrong to expect a bloke to not care how he looks while I am allowed to pore over designer shoes?
Please, please! Tell me there is someone out there who thinks WHITE JEANS ON MEN ARE A CRIME!
Monday, 28 March 2011
Monday, 21 March 2011
Losing my mojo
That's it, it's gone. I've lost it. A series of brutal things and I am unhinged, wishing I could plant blind happiness on my face.
The Japan earthquake, and here am I fretting over bills, and now bombing in Libya, while I am off skiing on melting snow, depressed because the season of hot thighs is over!
How superficial, how privileged, how unnecessary are we. I look outside and see not the keen growth of spring but roses I should have pruned, the thick wet grass, a sore back approaching. What a moaner!
Basta. This divorcée has to bring back her mojo. Stare at the blossom buds on the cherry trees, live the season, be grateful, re-learn simplicity.
A spring clean of the mind!
The Japan earthquake, and here am I fretting over bills, and now bombing in Libya, while I am off skiing on melting snow, depressed because the season of hot thighs is over!
How superficial, how privileged, how unnecessary are we. I look outside and see not the keen growth of spring but roses I should have pruned, the thick wet grass, a sore back approaching. What a moaner!
Basta. This divorcée has to bring back her mojo. Stare at the blossom buds on the cherry trees, live the season, be grateful, re-learn simplicity.
A spring clean of the mind!
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