The egg-citement is brewing as we’re hippity hoppiting ever closer to four glorious days of hot sofa-bound buns, custody chocolate egg hunts; and you’ve more chance of a clearer conflab with a relapsed Lindsay Lohan, trapped down a rabbit hole, than a Zoom chinwag with Great Aunt Maude in Bognor – every cloud.
Three weeks in, you’ve forgotten the art of piecing together an outfit as you struggle to peel off your Pocahontas PJs; grooming, much like your social life, has subsided: your eyebrows now resemble a pair antenna-touching North American Hickory Tussock Moth Caterpillars; and, your breath could no doubt kill off any microorganism within two metres as your dental hygiene has become as obsolete as your Estée Lauder pre-brekkie ceremony.
Things aren’t looking Good for this Friday, and neither are you. Whether you’re asymptomatic, antibody fighting fit, or a hybrid super-spreader, let’s pull our socks up (metaphorically speaking of course – no one’s donned a pair of brogues for weeks), and stop convincing colleagues via Microsoft Teams conference calls they’ve tuned into an episode of The Royle Family. It’s time to preen, pluck, and pummel your current Ozzy Osbourne state into a bonnet-bouncing, basket-swinging, long-weekend-loving bunny. Giving you, and those in close quarters, a break from your Stig Of The Dump new-look, while embarking on housebound horseplay.
Dressed To Segregate
Resembling one of the big J’s disciples isn’t a thing, whichever gender you identify as – trim the face-fuzz Apostle. If you regularly troweled on the Chanel Rouge Coco Flash, Colour Shine; contoured Baga Chipz cheeks; and didn’t go a day without your thicker-than-grandma’s-Easter-Sunday-gravy foundation application – pop ya slammer slap on chick-a-boo. Onesies, jammies, and joggers have no place for biblical banquettes and festive feasts – glory in your tomb of drapery, roll back the boulder and unleash the miracle that is your Stella McCartney skinnies, that Balenciaga boob-tube, and the Armani attire that provokes hallway to runway Schiffer sashays.
Stay Buoyant With Bubbles
Now you’re looking dapper enough to elbow said Furby-features out of the limelight, let’s Pat Sharp focus your sexy slicker-self in making the most out of this Borstal Bank Holiday. Pop lethargy with a virtual Champagne and Canapé soiree. You’re saving a mint not purchasing your daily Pret fix – splash out on a bottle or two of Veuve, bung up Kylie, and select compadres – as you would a new fragrance at Terminal 5 – for that intimate Studio 54 feel. On the plus, you won’t have to share your costly Clicquot with tighter than fresh-out-of-the-closet twink’s arse, always brings prosecco, drinking chum.
Play In Your Finery
Spiral away the resurrection period with a virtual game of Spin The Bottle. First, empty the contents of your chosen vessel, white burgundies or Hendricks will suffice – leaving you appropriately lubricated, and armed to play. Choose a handful of your babe-icious buds – you may only be smooching your screen, but you’ll need a bit of trouser twitching bait – and commence the spinning. As you’re in control of the bottle, and your lens can’t focus on anything bar your polished self – virtually lock-lips with your secret crushes as many times as you see fit, and dare the prosec penny-pincher to order you a crate of Bolly online. What a hoot!
And lastly, take your scrubbed-up derriere out (accessorise with surgical mask and gloves) for a social distancing (STAYING TWO METRES APART) 30 min jaunt, and parade the baptism that is your spruced beauty to the other inmates.
HAPPY BLOOMIN’ EASTER!
