Full of Christmas Spirit!

A girls' Christmas night out with Midlife Dramas in PyjamasLast 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!

Deck the halls…

snowmanHubby and I went out for lunch to a charming little café with a craft/gift shop attached. Ate a lovely meal then went for a poke around the shop.

Instantly spotted, and rushed over to, a display of gorgeous Christmas decorations. Much stroking, admiring and cooing ensued.  Husband quickly appeared by my side and told me – in no uncertain terms – that I DID NOT NEED any more Christmas decorations. Keep on reading!

“On the fifth day of Christmas, the dress shop gave to me…”

dressesWell, 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!

Looking good girl, looking good…

gym-bunny-4-with-border-greenHad 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!

For goodness sake, I’ll do it myself!

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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!

Watch out! The boobs are about!

breasts-1My 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.

Result…

Give up on the smokey eye, love!

eyeshadowDecided 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!

You call that wine?!

my-vinegarWent to local pub quiz with the girls – just to reinforce the venue, I did say PUB quiz.

Got there early to stock up on alcohol. Went to bar to order what would be first of several bottles of red wine.

Isn’t that what a pub’s supposed to serve? Wine?

They had two bottles – no, not two bottles behind the bar, and the rest in the cellar – two bottles in the entire pub.

Aghast looks were passed between us. To add insult to injury, one of the bottles we were being offered was half empty. So the reality of the situation was that they had one and a half bottles of red wine – on the entire premises.

I asked how long it had been opened, to which the answer came back, “No idea.” Helpful. “I’d like to taste it please,” I requested.

A glass was produced and a mouthful poured in. Said small amount was tipped into my mouth, registered on my taste buds then promptly spat back out again. Nice vinegar for your chips love, but under no circumstances could that noxious liquid you’re trying to fob us off with be described as red wine.

We ordered g&ts instead, forced down several packets of cheap crisps and came last in the quiz.

We’ve vowed never to set foot in the place again.

Shampoo why do you lie so much?

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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!!!

OCD Alert!

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Sometimes my OCD sits quietly at the back of my mind with its feet up, drinking a cuppa and reading Hello! magazine. At other times it comes rampaging to the front, waves its arms around in the air like a lunatic and jumps up and down like the Chuckle Brothers on speed.

Today I went to the library; it made an appearance and completely embarrassed me – again.

*for any youths reading this who don’t know what a library is, it’s a place where they stored books for you to borrow. Just imagine that! We actually used to flick real pages instead of flicking a screen. Who knew?*

On stopping the car – in theory – I click the steering wheel into the locked position, put it into gear and check the handbrake is on. Easy? No. In reality I jiggle the steering wheel left and right several times to make sure it’s clicked locked, waggle the gear stick forwards and backwards to within an inch of its life before slipping it into gear, then nearly wrench the handbrake off its fixings to check it’s on – several times.

So engrossed in this activity, I was completely oblivious to a man standing on the footpath, gesticulating to ask if everything was alright.

Out loud I said, “Yes, fine thanks. Been having a few problems with the steering wheel, gear stick and handbrake, but it’s all sorted now. Thanks though.”

In my head I said, ‘No everything is NOT alright. I think there’s a very strong possibility that I am quite probably, most likely, absolutely a … NUTTER!’