Connie is in a grievous STATE OF DESPAIR, grounded on the SoCoDu reservation like a blimp, suffering excruciating insta-envy …
Connie is being cruelly tortured on Instagram, subjected to an endless stream of perfectly poised pics from her smug snakevine, all of them seemingly frolicking in the Maldives. This is so upsetting on too many levels, primarily because she isn’t there, she lays this particular crime firmly at the Ruinators feet. Ruairi hasn’t actually pulled off any of his much touted and flouted ‘deals’ and so a Vit D break before the ski season kicks off is highly unlikely. Bastard. And of course, she has the vicarious Leaving Cert to prepare for.
Truth tell, she is quite embarrassed that she has never been to the Maldives as this leaves her in the feeble position of being unable to slide her critical in/out rule over the offending photos with any critical accuracy. She’s lamentably in the dark over whether Amilla Fushi is more in than Finolhu. Charity lunch circuit nightmare.
The other extremely upsetting thing about these photos is the bragbitches appear to be golden and most poisonous of all to Connie ‘lithe’. She on the other hand is feeling like a revolting porridge heap as she hasn’t yet managed to shift one gram of her Christmas shame – those three new hideous kilos. She is suffering agonising nightmares that she will never again in all her life post an envy inducing bikini shot.
For even though she has almost existed purely on bone broth for the past week, there has been zilcho change on the weighing scales. She is secretly horrified that it might be age related even though she is definitely, indeed defiantly, medicated to prevent any natural body decrepitude. Heaven forbid she might no longer be alluring to Yann Moix.
So strictly temporarily, Connie is dressing like a gal with saggage to hide and she is channeling flowy Equipment shirts and stretchy J Brand jeans, wearyingly too similar to so many other gals on the Gold Coast. Christ next she’ll be spending half her day walking the dog. Maybe she should just damn well go the whole hog and take up hillwalking, so easy to camouflage lumps and bumps in the baggy greige clothes and she could indulge in the nefarious joy of zero grooming. Connie Hell or Heaven?
Read previous instalments of A View From The Jeep …
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