Finding your inner diva
Every woman likes to pretend she is a diva. I'm a disco diva. I transferred from puberty to 'womanhood' at the end of the eighties, and when I was 16, (the) disco was my life. Me and my mate Christina spent many a Saturday Night feverishly looking for boys (well, be honest, 'men'...) to seduce and then leave stranded. We were taken, you see, both totally in love with our foreign boyfriends. We would smile, flutter our eyelashes, drink their Bacardi/beer/Martini and then vamoosh. Those were the days... ;) My disco days are now behind me (saggy bum, saggy boobs, saggy bags under my eyes), but now and again I dare to squeeze my legs in fishnet stockings, paint my nails (fingers and toes) bright red and sing yelp along with INXS. When I got a huge bag of Gratia de Luxe last year, the disco diva in me awoke again. And a while ago I started knitting a discotastic glittery sweater, which is now finished: I know that some people would already start itching on seeing the...