The Joy of Fake Tan

So living in Ireland, a natural tan doesn’t come easily, actually it rarely comes at all. As a result every year thousands of Irish holiday makers head to the sun, to bask on beaches soaking up the sun goodness. They return home glowing from a couple of weeks in the sun bemoaning Irish weather and anticipating their next trip to a far off shore.

Now I haven’t done ‘basking on a beach’ in rather a long time, which was unfortunate as I needed a tan. I was going to a posh ‘Do’ and needed to look, presentable, well at least not have people recoil in horror at my pale blotchy skin squeezed into a frock which was at least a tad snug.

The dress had been acquired on holiday, it was bright red and the best thing about it, it was stretchy, oh yeah baby I could get into this dress if it was a size smaller than I usually buy. Unfortunately for me it also revealed, to the unsuspecting public, ever lump and bump my bra and knickers produced.

Not a problem I thought, when I get home I can get me some of that ‘Spanx’ stuff. I had never in my life worn Spnax, but I’d heard great things and assumed ‘Spanx’ could do great things for me too.

Once again I hit the shops with some enthusiasm. So I ventured into a posh Dublin store. I was sure they’d sell Spanx here, after all posh people too must have a need of such things, I’m sure they too have bits that spill over in an unsightly manner.

‘I need something to smooth out my lumps and bumps’ I declared to the older, slightly sour faced sales assistant.

‘Menopause stole my waist and I though I could maybe buy one here’  I was grinning hoping for a smile back. I failed. No smile.

‘I was thinking maybe Spanx’ I offered

‘Madam’ yeah she called me madam ‘We can so much better than Spanx’

‘We can ?’

‘Follow me to the changing room madam and I’ll get a selection of undergarments’

Oh feck she called them under garments. She walked very slowly towards the posh changing room. It looked as though she had her bottom clenched very tightly indeed, possibly in case of some anal leakage, wind perhaps.

There I sat on a velvet bench opposite a mirror that reflected my mother back at me, wearing jeans and converse, hair tossed and looking like the un-poshest person to ever cross their door.

‘Madam, this is a miracle worker’ she held out her arm with a black lacy all in one bra and knickers thingee with a reinforced centre to hold everything in.

‘it’s got a popped gusset for your comfort’

She was gone and I was alone with the miracle worker. I’d encountered popped gussets before and my experience wasn’t a good one, if I moved too quickly sometimes they would pop, in retrospect maybe I should have bought a larger size.

I unpopped my gusset and I stepped in, miracle worker do your thing, well, the old miracle worker seemed to have an objection to going up over my hips, it just stopped there. I took a deep breath in and pulled that bad baby up over my Buddha like belly, then I stopped to take a breath before I tried to stuff my massive DD’s into what I’m sure were B cups.

I’d broken into a sweat and not a menopausal sweat, the miracle worker was very hard work. So all I had to do now was to pull the poppers together the front and the back. I pulled and pulled until the miracle worker moved about on my Buddha belly. I tried and failed to pop the poppers together, grappling with the gusset I could feel them but I couldn’t see them.

Reading glasses that’s what’s called for here. Everything was much clearer with my ‘awl wan’ glasses. I could see the poppers now all I had to do was pull the two ends of the miracle worker together. SLAP I let the back one slip out of my hand which I was holding with such force that it slapped my arse with a very loud slapping noise.

That was it I’d had enough of the miracle worker and that sour faced shop assistant.

I rolled, the miracle worker down over my poor hips and released myself from its death like grip.

Oh I could breath and I’d finally stopped sweating, I felt like I’d been in a wrestling match. How do women wear these contraptions all day.

‘How’s madam getting on’  she was standing outside my posh mirrored cubicle.

‘She’s not’ I replied

Gathered myself together and made my way out of the posh shop. Headed to Penny’s where I purchased a €2 thong.

Why a thong I hear you ask.

Spray tan. I was on my way to get a spray tan (for posh do)  and was told that I needed to wear a thong. Please bear in mind I’d not worn a thong since 1982 and I’d never had a spray tan before.

So there I stood in a cubicle in nothing but a paper hat and a thong while a young woman, who was wearing a mask sprayed my entire body with some ice-cold liquid.

‘We’ll start at the back’ she was very enthusiastic and giggled rather a lot

‘You’ll be only massive’ now I should explain that’s a Dublin colloquialism for ‘You’ll look great’

‘Turn to the front we have to get everywhere’

I did as directed, she sprayed up and down and the icy cold liquid made me shiver. The she reached into the cubicle and raised my left boob with her hand and sprayed what can only be descried as a smiley face under it, then move to the right boob, holding that one up too and repeating the smiley face.

This confirmed that not only is my arse sagging but my boobs are too.

So I’ve got a posh frock and a tan, I’ve also got awl wan knickers that are very bloody comfortable.

The joy of a spray tan and Big Knickers..










  1. I have some skinny tan if u want it . Gods luck with the miracle worker . I will say a novena for u x

  2. Spray tans are great but the smell!!! You should feel free to wear the knockers you want, those skinny popper gusset things are just a way of making us ladies think we should conform to something unrealistic. You just be your awesome self and rock that dress gorgeous xxx

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