"How irritating that gyms (basically gay churches) don't focus more attention on the pink pound. Warning us that Pride (much like Winter) IS coming."
Where’s the ‘Pride Body’ warning?
Beautiful gays, handsome lesbians and everyone in between- Pride weekend is just round the corner. Time to dust off that Kelly Lorena playlist and dig out your sparkly cowboy hat because when you and your squad head out, soho won’t know what’s HIT it! (Please note- I own neither a Kelly Lorena playlist nor a sparkly cowboy hat. I’m classy as shit. Ask anyone!)
If you, like me, intend to wear as little clothing as possible (see, classy) AND drink Rik Waller’s body weight in German beer then I hope you got the ‘Pride Body’ memo. That non existent email/fax/carrier pigeon you receive in April to warn you that if you want to do BOTH the fore mentioned things (alcohol and obligatory slut outfit) then you need to get cracking with a summer body regime. And if you, like me, DID give a second thought to that summer body, you will have, like me, determined that pizza, pasta, dark chocolate with sea salt (you know the one) and the occasional salad (I hate salad) will be the perfect tonic to your winter rolls.
How irritating that gyms (basically gay churches) don’t focus more attention on the pink pound. Warning us that Pride (much like Winter) IS coming. Think of the extra money those ripped muscular straight boy trainers would make if they worked out how many extra pints of Kronnebourg each set of squats equates to!
In Portugal last week (back door brag about how international I am) I got out the pool and went inside, still wet, to sit on my sofa. Folding my towel to sit on (what glamour), I folded it again because I was pretty sure my pre-Pride ass would fit on that tiny piece of towelling. It didn’t, I stood up to find I’d totally underestimated the size of my massive Arabic ass and either side of the towel sat two half crest moon shaped wet patches. Damn you non existent Pride Body notification!
It’s not that I haven’t put the gym time in, my abs are so tight that sometimes I let a little fart out when I laugh (if that’s not the MOTHER of back door brags!), it’s more that instead of supplementing said gym time with some tasty sweet potato and chicken, I spent a week in the Algarve “sampling” (eating whole) calzones.
And why the hell shouldn’t I?! I turn 30 this Pride weekend (my parents planned that SO well) and am entering a whole new stage of my life. In some bars now I’m basically a hairless daddy. My arms alone are the size of most of the barmen’s legs in Ku bar, and a few weeks ago in a smoking area (I don’t smoke. I’m husband material) I was referred to as ‘the old guy’. Kill. me. now.
But maybe I should settle in to this new stage of less worry for my slut Pride outfit. Maybe I could even go crazy and start wearing outfits with sleeves!!!!
Either way, Pride is coming with or without my muffin top. So this Hackney Gay is gonna wobble along to the music with his top off somewhere in the sun surrounded by (his ugliest) friends.
Happy Pride you sexy bitches 🌈
See you in the queue for Dalston Superstore!