48/50 Chopped Salad, Sexy As And Possible Rabies

1. Chop, chop

Each salad I’ve bought has been thoroughly chopped. The blade brought down, back and forth, fast and furious, annihilating those cherry toms and grated carrot into almost-mush.

Why so much chop, chop? It’s veering on soup territory and I feel quite strongly about that.

Lines snake out the doorways and every order contains meat unless you ask for the ‘vegetarian’ which means you get to choose your ingredients and hold everyone up and they’re not kiwi passive-aggressive sighing (might just be me), nope, they’re saying it all out LOUD, man.

Jeez, this line is slow, man. I gotta be back at work, like hours ago!


The chopper of my particular six ingredients (mostly lettuce, mostly because of crowd intimidation) was ‘shocked and stunned of Chelsea’ to understand I didn’t want any dressing.

Really? REALLY?!

To be honest, I left feeling I’d let the team down. I had no idea salad and all it entails was such a complex experience filled with unspoken implications and oversensitive servers.

It’s a hell of a way to be healthy.

2. Waiting

As I was sitting in Bryant Park today waiting to be discovered* a few home truths came, uh home, to roost. Firstly, I was working out how I’d come to be there when I’d meant to be on the other side of Greenwich Village but was happy to sit on a bit for my self-esteem. New York Fashion Week ended on Sunday and there were still lots of absolutely hideous looking people wafting around.

I was transfixed actually, surrounded by stunning, beautiful, outrageously stylish women and not just because of their clothes, or faces or the length of their legs. They were turning heads because they walked like they owned it; head up, confident and sexy as f**K.

The realisation that a number of them were older than me was like I imagine old Caption Hook felt when he discovered Never Never Land (or similar, didn’t take history past Year 11).

It was a defining moment for a woman on the cusp of almost half of a hundred.

There is never a better time to be comfortable in your own skin. No matter how old you are right this very minute, you should love the bejesus out of yourself because how you present yourself to the world is pretty much what you get back.

Yes, there are always smoke and mirrors, of course. We all partake to a certain degree but watching these glorious women had quite an impact on me (no, not in the Mother Theresa and all amazing yoga people that yoga teachers worship way), in that there is absolutely no point NOT to be amazing right now. Because tomorrow you’ll be one day older and what a waste to think you can’t be fabulous every day, in every way, including how you look.

There’ll be some sagging, some shifts, more lines, did I mention sagging? That’s natural and if you want to do something about it, do it. If not, just look gorgeous, woman!

I’m losing momentum.

What I’ve decided, in short, is that I’m not waiting any longer to lose a couple of kg’s or find the perfect cream or worry if I’m too old to wear whatever. I’m going to ask myself what I want and then go with that.

And then I’m going to strut around chasing my own paparazzi.

*#elderlymodelavailableforsnacks #callme

3. Rabies

One of the fab side effects for me when I travel is my skin reacts to everything. Everything! It comes out in anything from humungous zits to rashes to what I have this time. Swollen welts all over my upper torso. I’m itchy as an itchy thing and can’t stop sticking my hand up my top as I’m walking along.

So I went to my friendly CVC to see if I had a reaction to the washing powder or rabies or an allergy to life. (The youths behind the counter are SO rude it’s comical and they all snack while they’re ‘serving’ people. With their mouths full.) The friendly youth didn’t laugh when I suggested rabies and gave me some anti-itch cream. Which is all well and good but I’m practicing Bikram this week, so either I cover myself from head to toe or risk having everyone move their mat away from me in disgust.

Which would leave me with plenty of room so I’m going with the humiliation versus heat stroke.

Enjoy a chopped salad or prefer it in a more natural state?
Getting older disgracefully while looking fab? Thoughts?

Photo by Kris Atomic

© The Yoga Connection 2017

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