Actually, I instantly regretted deleting TWO photos. This is that post about my bingo wings that I mentioned in my last update, by the way. We were supposed to be visiting a monastery on Saturday, but SOMEBODY (me) got confused over which monastery it actually was. Bachkovo Monastery didn’t sound as exciting as Rila Monastery, so instead we chose to stay in bed late (in our new, private room upgrade) and did some shopping… and ate some ice cream… and planned to climb some hills.
Obviously, because we are Moey, nothing really went to plan. I suppose some bits did, but we took a look at the hill we planned to climb and decided it was too far away. Not that it was too high (ahem), just that it was too far away. From a smaller hill, closer to town, we got our fill of pretty views.
The hill that we did climb, Sahat Tepe, featured a run down clock tower (which some how still rang at 3PM and 3.05PM) that wasn’t really worth photographing. Actually, the rocks were more exciting.
|The view over Plovdiv from Sahat Tepe|
|PLOVEDIV and the amphitheatre in the centre|
|A really fetching photo from the top of Sahat Tepe|
I asked Mike to take a picture of me being King of the World and this was where it all started. I sat on top of the rocks, all pretty in my nice cream dress. I threw my arms wide in a fashion that said, “LOOK AT ME! I’M IN THIS BEAUTIFUL PHOTO AND YOU ARE NOT!”
I was so happy in that moment of time, doing the whole Russian pose shabang. In fact, I was just two seconds out of lapsing into duck face territory. It’s okay, I sicken myself too.
However, when I went to look back at the photo I was perplexed! My upper arms appeared to have been replaced by very large rolls of German sausage. The rest of my body had behaved perfectly, how could it be that my arms had not got the “Hey, we’re taking a picture” memo?
They looked huge!
I demanded another one, thinking it was just a poor shot. But the second came out very much the same. I left the photos for a little while, thinking that I might feel differently about them later. But as we enjoyed a drink in a bar, overlooking the lovely fountain square, Mike sniggered at his phone.
When I asked what it was about, he asked why my arms looked so completely out of proportion to the rest of my body.
That was it. If even my boyfriend can see that I have a serious case of le Bingo Wing then everyone else will surely see it too.
I hit delete. Twice. And immediately hated myself.
Why do I care what you think I look like? I’m probably 100 miles away from you and having the time of my life. Plus, if I cared that much about my image, I wouldn’t have indulged in a massive ice cream.
|SO. MUCH. ICE CREAM.|
I think retail therapy works, by the way. I bought some new sandals for the grand total of £4. At one point I was questioning whether that was £4 per sandal but the merchant just looked confused. I gave her 10 BGN and hoped for the best.