Keeping up Appearances

We have an unnerving resemblance to Daisy and Onslow, so said Stefano last night.

Sadly, he's right. We have let ourselves go. We have put on weight, we dress like slobs and Stefano spends an inordinate amount of time in bed. 


As from Monday we are going to make an effort. We're in our early 40s and whilst I have every intention of ageing gracefully this does not mean I have to look like a cat/bag lady so soon in life.


Thick and naturally streaked.
I need to make the most of
my hair.
I have no intention of going back to dying my hair. For one I can't afford it and secondly I'm quite fond of my white streaks at the temple. I feel like an evil Disney character, a good feeling to channel when trying to teach unruly Spanish teenagers.

I will, however, brush it every day. I will also wear it down a little more often rather than scraping it back into a severe bun. My hair is my best feature, I need to treat it with respect. 

Stefano needs to get his cut somewhere other than the 5euro barbers. With his penny-pinching ways this may be difficult.


Naturally, this does not apply to Stefano. I am not going to make rash promises about wearing make-up every day, but I shall try and apply it when I'm looking particularly rough and not just save make-up for very rare special occasions.


We both need to shave more often.


Stefano has to stop walking around the house in superpippo (long johns) that are tied in a knot at the waist because the buttons popped off due to the strain of his burgeoning belly. He also has to ditch the appalling pants and socks that his mother still buys for him (Italians, I tell you they are not all dressed head to toe in Armani - it's a huge fallacy; the mothers, sadly, are not).

I need to dress with a little more care. Yes, everything does 'go', accessories are all colour and style co-ordinated, it's just that my style is not age appropriate. I've taken to dressing like a teenager, with sneakers teamed with short denim skirts. I'm 44, not 14. Get a grip, Cater. 

In my defence I am shoe deprived in Spain. My budget does not stretch to a 200euro pair of shoes, and due to the enormity of my feet (size 43/44, UK 9/10) the cheaper shoes do not exist on the High Street. Due to this I have resorted to buying men's trainers or sneakers, hence the crap teenager look.


Stefano has got chubby. I've got fatter. We need to diet, we need to exercise. There is nothing more to say.

Get out of the ^&%$(*& bed!

While I work, Stefano sleeps in the spare bed be near me.

Lounging in bed is not something I can be accused of, Stefano is a different story. He would never raise his head from the pillow if he could get away with it. Drives me mad. That boy is going to be dragged from the bed before midday every day, including weekends. 

This is the battle we have to face. We used to be presentable, a little quirky at times, but presentable; now we're just a mess. We are going to change, we have to, the secret is not to make it too much of a chore. 

We'll see.


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