A couple of months back, my phone lit up with a Whatsapp message from the fabulous Hannah at Student Life. This is always a momentus occasion, even more so when I open the message and it’s a picture of Hannah posing in an oversized tshirt and her gignormous pants. Now its not like we regularly sext eachother pictures of us in our underwear (or do we?) The reason was that we’d recently discussed doing a cheeky OOTN post inspired by Bridget Jones. Bridget Jones: the queen of giant pants, plaid PJ’s, drinking vodka and singing along to Celine Dion in her flat of a lonely evening (yet somehow still ending up with Mark Darcy – THERES HOPE FOR US ALL LADIES)
I’m basically Bridget Jones.
I’m going to shatter the illusion of me sitting at my desk, laptop in front of me, dolled up to the nines a la Carrie Bradshaw and letting my fingers fire off a multitude of witty and charming blog posts *cough* The reality is by far from your expectations.
Of a normal evening, when I get home from work, I start undressing as soon as I enter the front door. You know like in films when a guy turns up at your door and he’s that desperate to have you that he starts undressing you at the door and you end up fornicating on the kitchen counter? Well picture that… without the guy … and without the kitchen counter fornication #foreveralone
My shoes get kicked off on the door mat, my cardigan comes off on the sofa, my dress is pulled over my head and tossed in the direction of the washing machine in the kitchen, my tights following soon after, my bra is usually found hanging strategically on the hand rail of the stairs and by the time I’ve reached my bedroom I’ll be wearing nothing more than my “just incase you get hit by a bus” knickers (i.e they’re nice knickers) and a smile. I’d love to be one of “those” women who have “loungewear” consisting of matching tops and bottoms in silky material with delicate floral patterns on. Instead, its at this point that I throw on a trusty oversized tshirt, a pair of Bridget Jones style knickers (that I hoik up well past my tummy and almost over my boobs – warmth!) slip my tired and aching feet into some slipper boots and settle my backside down on either the sofa or my bed for the duration of the night and consume my weight in my “guilty pleasure” snack of choice. My guilty pleasure snack of choice is anything which involves cheese. Olives and cheese, slices of onion and cheese, cherry tomatos and cheese, beetroot and cheese…I don’t care that cheese is practically cellulite in a block, I’ll take the cheese and cover up my cellulite under a maxi skirt, thanks. AND ANYWAY, everything I’m pairing it with is technically salad and healthy-ish.Instead of the Celine Dion power ballad, I’m a big fan of a stonking pop song from one of the powerhouse pop divas of the 21st century. I’m not averse to a bit of getting my ghetto on to a Beyonce song or flinging myself around my bed with a hairbrush to Madonna’s “Open Your Heart” a la Britney Spears in the film Crossroads – only a little more rounder and with less co ordination (the number of times I’ve accidentally fell off the bed after getting my foot caught in the duvet)
I’m not quite as hardcore as Bridg, you can keep the vodka, but you’ll most likely find me supping on a glass of wine. Scrap that. I’ll be making like Tinie Tempah and “drinking from the bottle”. Luckily for me/unluckily for my liver, the nearest shop to me sells wine 3 for £11, and I always pick up one of each colour (red, white, rose… I’m an equal opportunities wine drinker). When I say near, I mean it. It takes me less than a minute to get to my local shop and the owners of the establishment aren’t averse to seeing me dart in there in a variety of get ups, complete with Sudocrem on my spots and my bosoms swinging freely with no bra to hold them in place. Infact I think they’re under the impression that I live purely on wine, cheese, bars of chocolate and bags of salt and vinegar crunchy sticks.
This is my average OOTN when its not one of those rare occasions where I actually am partaking in a social life. Writing blog posts, watching TV or sad films, procrastinating my entire life away on Twitter, creating imaginary shopping baskets of items I can’t afford on Feel Unique, cuddling with Ted or Skype-ing – this look is completely versatile (but it means I have to hop around like a loon trying to get into some PJ bottoms that don’t match everytime someone knocks on the front door – the takeaway delivery man frowns upon me flashing my thighs at him).
What does your Bridget Jones OOTN look like?