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!
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!
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!
Shampoo why do you lie so much?
What makes you promise me,
That using you will make my hair
The hair I want to see?
You show me lovely images
Of maidens, oh so fair.
You make me think that I can have
Their lovely, flowing hair.
You say you’ll smooth and clarify
Protect, repair and fix.
Relax, hydrate, defend from breaks
And other clever tricks.
You offer volume, body, height
And all things in between.
And obviously my hair will have
A sleek and glossy sheen.
You’ll make my hair more youthful, and
Keep signs of age at bay.
You’ll fix split ends and somehow change
The texture of the grey.
Shampoo for greasy, frizzy, dry
Or flyaway and fine.
Coloured, curly, straight or flat
But which is right for mine?
I choose one and rush home with glee,
Fling back the shower door.
I wash and dry my hair, and yet –
IT’S STILL LIKE BLOODY STRAW!!!
I was getting dry after my shower when husband came in to the bathroom – to get something out of the cupboard. I looked at him and smiled.
Feeling a bit frisky I slipped one shoulder out of the towel and looked at him coyly, then followed it with the other. I allowed the fabric to drop tantalisingly over the top of my breasts, slowly revealing my nipples. He looked at me appreciatively as the towel slithered to the floor, and licked his lips – then his expression changed. Was it lust? Was it admiration? Was it awe?
He opened his mouth to speak the immortal words that every wife longs to hear…
“You’ve got a long hair growing out from the side of your left nipple.”
Went shopping to get new night-time moisturiser. Night-time and day-time?? Won’t one pot do all? Apparently not.
My current pot is two years old and has sat in hot hotel rooms on two annual holidays. That tells you how diligently I use it, and how ineffective it has probably now become.
I’m already using a serum which is supposed to show results within four weeks. I’ve been using it for four months. I’m still waiting for the moment when I look in the mirror and discover that the old hag has been replaced by a dewy faced, glowing beauty. According to the adverts, that’s what should happen.
Pah – not in my mirror…
I scanned the shelves. It was like looking at a wrinkle-o-meter. At the top, creams for skin just starting to think about throwing in the odd wrinkle – ‘the first signs of ageing’. Next down, creams for skin becoming a bit more determined – ‘with fine lines and wrinkles’. Snapping at their heels, creams for skin starting to win the battle – ‘with deep lines and wrinkles’. Bringing up the rear, and lurking on the bottom shelf, creams for skin that hasn’t just said “hello boys” to the wrinkles, but “hello boys, come on in, put your feet up and can I get you a drink?”- ‘more mature skin’.
The issue with storing products at floor level, is how to get down to them. Are you a bender or a squatter? To squat you need good knees, not be desperate for a wee and be able to balance on your toes – while holding a pot of cream. This leaves only one free hand to steady you, when you start to fall over. To bend you need to be flexible, not wear a short skirt and be ready for your bag to swing round from your shoulder, smash itself into you and knock the pot of cream out of your hand.
Creams for us ‘mature’ ladies should be on the top shelf. Let the younger women, who still have the upper hand with their skin, take up a yoga stance to reach down to the floor level shelf. I’m sure they won’t feel dizzy and sway slightly when they stand up straight again.
Bought my cream and headed home. I’ll let you know if the dewy faced, glowing beauty makes an appearance any time soon…
Decided it was time I had some drawn on eyebrows. Stood balefully gazing at pencils wondering if I was a light brown, warm brown, medium brown, dark brown, mid-brown, chestnut, hazel, tawny or chocolate. Bleedin’ Nora!
My hair is medium brown (out of a bottle) but my eyebrows are dark brown shot through with grey – this does not make me look distinguished; it makes me look like an aged badger. Eventually an assistant came over and advised me. I left with a warm brown pencil plus a special sharpener – but laughed at her suggestion of wax to keep said eyebrows in place. I walked away shaking my head and smiling at the youth of today. Did she think I couldn’t look after a pair of eyebrows?!
Got home and immediately filled in my scratty eyebrows. Looked like I was permanently frowning; maybe I’d drawn them too far into the middle – though obviously I’d stopped short of a mono-brow. Not sure if I looked permanently surprised, permanently cross or permanently bewildered. Sucked a cotton bud and tried to make them look less frightening.
Took new eyebrows to the pub. No-one said a word but did get a few quizzical looks. Got home, looked in mirror and realised I’d smudged one right across my forehead.
Obviously the assistant was right – I’m not ready to be out in public with sole responsibility for a pair of eyebrows!
Visited hairdresser’s today. My visits follow this format:
Her: Have you been happy with your hair this time?
Me: Well, err… I still think it’s shorter on one side.
Her (scooping up chunks of hair): Well, it’s cut correctly.
Me: But it doesn’t look quite right.
Her: Well I could do this…. but then you’ll lose your length. Or I could do this…. but then you’ll lose your layers. Are you doing anything nice at the weekend?
Me: I know it’s not you, it’s my hair… No not particularly.
Her: Yes, it’s the way your hair kinks out at one side.
Me: Can’t you just leave that side to grow down a bit?
Her: Ooo no, it wouldn’t be cut right.
Me: But it would look right – to me.
Her: Yes but your layers wouldn’t be right.
Me: Yes but…
Her: Why don’t you grow it out into a bob?
Me: What?? No, a bob doesn’t suit me. It makes my face look thin and gaunt. Remember I told you that last time?
Her: Mmm. Shall we leave it this time then, and just trim your length?
Me (with rictus grin on face): Lovely, yes, let’s do that.
An hour later I look at the finished product. I still think it looks shorter on one side. My parting shot?
Me: That’s great thanks; see you in six weeks’ time.
So, shower puffs? I’m all for them. They make the shower gel lather up beautifully.
Shower puffs with a hanging loop attached? Great. Means they hang up over the shower controls.
Shower puffs with a hanging loop, and a suction cup attached? WHAT?? It means you can stick it to the wall – fab in principle, bonkers in practice.
Every time you swing the shower puff round to a different part of your body, the suction cup randomly attaches itself to the nearest wall. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve moved it through my legs, and then tried to bring it back only to discover it’s stuck to the rear wall.
Knocking my forehead on the soap dish, as my arm jerks with the shower puff’s refusal to move, is now a daily occurrence.
And don’t get me started on trying to pick it up from the floor…