So these past few days it's been rather hot. So much so that I've been tempted to take the plunge and go out in bare legs for the first time since I was sunning myself in the South African bush. There are plenty of things stopping me from making the drastic change from jeans to "bare-sies" however:
1) Parisians are still wearing coats, scarves and mittens. With the same weather in the UK, everyone is rushing off to the beach, buying ice-cream and wearing graphic-print crop tops paired with tiny white shorts barely covering their even whiter arses. Not to mention the return of the flip-flop to show off their newly painted toenails in neon pink. But no, Parisians are faaar too classy to show that much flesh or be seen in such bold and bright attire, even when the sun is beating down on them. It's all about thick, black coats. All year round.
Are they actually cold? Or are they trying to make a statement?
2) My legs are white. To be honest, my legs are always white so I should really just deal with it. I'm sure there are many others in the same boat as me but there are times when I look at my body and fancy myself a rather translucent ghost-like figure thanks to my porcelain skin. Porcelain, yes, that's it. Way to turn "pasty white" into a compliment - just call it porcelain. I also get lots more freckles in the sun. I suppose if all my freckles joined up into one massive freckle I might look tanned. Or perhaps I'd look like a life-size birth mark. Either way, I'm certainly no supermodel with legs the length of the Great Wall of China with skin so sun-kissed that it would give Elle Macpherson a run for her money.
3) On one of these recently warm days, I decided to wear a blue dress and skin-coloured tights to work. The problem? I was on the metro and everything with a pulse was staring at me. There was something about showing off my legs in something other than opaque tights or jeans which seemed to cause quite a stir and I felt incredibly uncomfortable. It's like they'd never seen a pair of legs before. Given the general consensus, I concluded that this was clearly not a Parisian way to dress so I made sure to throw all my skin-coloured tights into the back of my wardrobe until I returned to the UK. God only knows the consequence of bare legs if I received that sort of reaction after skin-coloured tights. Guess I won't be needing those skimpy white shorts anytime soon then.
4) It may be warm but you never know when a gust of wind might take you by surprise and all of a sudden you're having a Marilyn Monroe moment. Something to be avoided at all costs. And sadly for me (or my dignity, rather), Paris seems to be covered with grates and vents blasting hot air out of them. Many a time have I accidentally stepped over one of them, only to have to plaster my hemline down, having flashed a few passersby in the process. I'm not sure whether it's better to be wearing small or large knickers at a time like this. I suppose either is better than no knickers at all.
5) I still haven't perfected my beach body. Oh wait. Earth to Montana - you never will. Guess I gotta make some sacrifices in life if I insist on eating cheese 24/7.
Watch this space,
Montana
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