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Getting naked got rid of the Sunday sinking feeling for good

I always dreaded Sundays when I was a rasher, but I thought I had left that all behind.

I was wrong. As a little girl the seventh day meant the drive back to the capital from my parents' childhood homesteads in Co Offaly (Kinnitty and Birr).

Once home we had to pack our school bag for the next day (after the tearful goodbyes to the grandparents, aunts, uncles and a beloved grand-aunt, who used to buy us Silvermints, a few hours earlier). Sigh.

The Sunday drive meant that the fun and freedom of the Slieve Bloom Mountains, where Mam was raised, and running around the streets of Birr where Pops is from, were over.

But last weekend was worse than any Sunday I remember as a child -- much worse.

Mainly because I had to face my fear of getting naked in front of people. This had me in a sleepless state as Sunday approached.

I blame my mother (of course), as the week before she 'innocently' asked me when I was thinking of getting my highlights done again. It was a gentle reminder to call my pal who turns my hair from brown to medium blonde.

Anyway, week days are busy for us both, but my pal was free to do 'the hair' on Sunday.

I do yoga at 11am on Sundays. It's Bikram yoga which means I smell like Satan's own arse thereafter, such is the amount of sweating we all do in class (it is worth it, I swear). Under normal circumstances I change my top and then leg it home on foot, forgoing the bus so that I don't scare people in my gym gear, and then have a nice private shower in my pad with lots of Jo Malone products.


But Mammy O'Keeffe had spoken. Urgent steps needed to be taken. My only problem was that I now had to shower in the yoga centre in order to be in her house on time. Scary biscuits.

There are NO shower curtains. This is, of course, due to the fact that no one gives other people more than a passing glance in changing rooms -- but even as a young girl I used to get in and out of swim gear under the towel.

I am a prude. It's official.

I survived the shock and rocked up at the hair guru's house in clean gym gear, wet hair and no make-up.

The good news is that I now no longer fear Sundays as the gym attire plus nice blonde hair with zero make-up meant I got asked for ID on my way home while trying to buy a bottle of wine.

I have officially changed my mind about Sundays due to the above! It's my favourite day of the week.