I often go to the supermarket looking like I’ve been sleeping under a railway bridge for a week: hair scraped up, no make-up, tracksuit bottoms, scruffy trainers, pyjama top (I kid you not) and shapeless cardigan (buttoned up to hide the pyjama top!) Keep on reading!
Today I was at the dentist for a filling. My dentist is young, gorgeous and always up for a bit of a chat; so returning for a filling isn’t as bad as it would be if he was ancient and brusque with bad breath and smelly armpits. Keep on reading!
Went across town to a friend’s house. This was my first visit. Had to use sat nav to get me there. I hate sat navs. I don’t like being told what to do by a person, never mind a gadget suctioned to my windscreen! Keep on reading!
Went to doctors. After the initial chit-chat he told me I needed to provide a wee sample, so handed me the tiniest pot he could find and directed me to the toilets. The ‘bottle’ you’re expected to pee in is clearly some kind of joke, which no doubt provided hours of entertainment for the man that designed it. Keep on reading!
Last Saturday was our girls’ Christmas night out.
Spent morning laying out dress (long-sleeved to cover up flabby armpits), shoes (4″ red patent leather – I kid you not), underwear (including support tights and suck-it-all-in knickers), handbag (large enough to hold Tena lady, reading glasses and earplugs), make-up (thick enough to fill in the wrinkles) and jewellery. Keep on reading!
Well, it’s that time of year again – the ‘hunt down a couple of dresses for the party season’ time of year. Or as I like to call it – the ‘cross my fingers and hope I find something that doesn’t make me look like mutton dressed as lamb, has an air of Catherine Zeta Jones about it (as opposed to an air of desperation), and doesn’t cost the earth’ time of year. Keep on reading!
Had been at the gym 10 minutes today when a member of staff came over to tell me that a film crew would be coming in to make a promotional film clip, for You Tube . She then asked if I was ok about being in it. No I chuffing was not!
“Should I leave?” I asked desperately. Keep on reading!
My current hairdresser is hell-bent on blow-drying my hair in a certain way – which is absolutely not the way I want it. So today, to show her how I’d like it done, I actually washed and blow-dried it myself before I went for my appointment – yes, you read that right. Puffed out from my head and wavy; nothing wrong with a bit of Farrah Fawcett of a morning! Plenty of volume. Remember that. It’s important.
She did the roots and trimmed it, then it was time for the blow dry. I’d told her I like volume. I’d told her it doesn’t suit me flat to my head. I’d told her flat hair makes my face look gaunt – I’d told her it makes me look old. She nodded and smiled knowingly.
Confident she knew what she was doing I settled down to read my book. 15 minutes later I looked up. CHUFFIN’ NORA!! An Afghan hound looked back at me. No, NOT a perfectly groomed, swishy, silky Afghan hound – a neglected, scrawny, old mutt with lank hair that any grungy teenager would be proud of!
Flat to my head, my face looked gaunt, I’d aged 10 years and guess what? NO VOLUME!
My teenagers seem to love loitering around our bedroom and lolling about on the bed. On the whole this is fine (and actually quite nice), but at times a little privacy is required – like in the mornings when I’m rushing around trying to get dressed. So, I’ve discovered a great way to ‘nicely’ get rid of them.
I simply declare, “This is my room and I want to get dressed. I’m happy for you to stay but be warned, the boobs will be making an appearance.”
On hearing these immortal words their facial expressions change to horror, they simultaneously wail “Noooooo!” their hands shoot up to their eyes, and they both frantically lunge for the door.
Decided that, as a fully grown adult, I should be able to create a smokey eye when I go out wearing full make up (full make up as opposed to last night’s mascara, smudged eyebrows and a look of apology). On numerous occasions I’ve attempted to get the smokey, sultry look – and failed every time. I invariably end up looking like I should be spending my evening standing on a street corner, propping up a bar scaring innocent young men or draped around a pole – having first tried to stuff my middle-aged muffin top into ridiculously tiny bits of lace.
So, in the supermarket today, I headed to the make up counters in search of eye shadow. The palette currently residing in my make-up drawer has been there at least 10 years and includes: bright green and blue, a worn out brush, a cracked mirror and the odd cat hair.
I felt that powder eye shadow was probably best; cream tends to congeal in my eyelid creases, point-blank refuses to blend and has been absorbed into my body within an hour of being applied. I fleetingly dabbled with colour tattoo eye make-up a while ago. The problem with this however, is that it won’t come off. Red, watery, puffy eyes is a look I can manage on my own thanks without the aid of a cotton wool pad soaked in industrial strength cleanser and 10 minutes of
scrubbing gentle dabbing.
Found a stand with little pots of testers in every colour you could imagine. My eyes lit up. Was drawn to an off-white, sparkly one. Carefully extending my finger I placed it into the pot, ready to test its suitability – only to discover that not only was it not eye shadow but that it was actually body shimmer. And therefore, extremely loose and powdery.
Spent rest of my time in the supermarket with a finger nail full of shimmer, a cascade of it down my coat, rogue specks glinting up at me from the tops of my shoes and a firm resolution to give myself a good talking to and give up on the smokey eye, love!