Marina from the hairdressers feels I should no longer wear leggings due to the fact that my legs look like a pair of stuffed sausages and when I bend over I resemble a bicycle park. How do I know this? Because I was sitting on the other side of the partition when she decided to tell her rather bored looking client. Am I bothered? Not particularly, Marina has the kind of face that only a Mother could love and a voice like a foghorn, so all in all my bicycle park backside isn’t so bad. She also had the complexion of a beetroot when she walked around the corner and saw me sitting there with one of my recently waxed eyebrows raised. Stuffed sausages indeed!
Every now and again I like to treat myself with a little trip to the beauty parlor, well that’s what I tell myself anyway. The truth is, when my eyebrows get so bushy I can no longer see, then I know it’s time to book an appointment. Other bits get bushy too, but believe me, that is one waxing story you do not want to hear about.
The trouble with waxing is that for about 30 minutes afterwards the skin above your eye looks like it has been slapped senseless with a wet kipper (I can see you now, scratching your head and asking yourself why the kipper is wet. In all honesty I don’t know either, it just sounded good so I wrote it).
On leaving the establishment where you paid for the
torture pleasure of having your eyebrows waxed you feel like a million dollars, until that is, someone happens to look in your direction. It could be a casual look, in fact they might not even be looking at you at all, but for some reason you can’t help but feel that it’s the belisha beacon brows that have attracted their attention. In a bid to detract said attention away from yourself you do a sort of sideways crablike walk, which only serves to actually draw more attention.
I sound so knowledgeable about this subject don’t I, well that’s probably because it happened to me just this afternoon. On leaving the salon with my nice new manicure and waxed to within an inch of my life I felt a little more Real Housewives of Orange County, than Buck Eejit of Belfast City, until that is, I went to step off the curb and the heel of my Jammy Chew, my nice new knock off shoes, caught in a crack in the pavement. Down I went like a sack of spuds and when I opened my eyes, there above me was the most gorgeous man I have ever seen, gently propping my head up on his folded up coat. A little disorientated I couldn’t understand why he kept asking me if I was all right, despite my firm assurances I was. When he told me it was because I must have hit my forehead when I fell, as it looked extremely red and painful I was totally mortified. The moment ruined, I jumped up like a scalded cat, and scuttled (like a crab) backwards promising him that I was fine and in no way injured, pretending to shield my eyes from the sun.
I think that’s the fastest I have ever walked home in my life. You can rest assured I went straight onto Ebay to order myself a new pair of Rey Banned sunglasses for my next appointment!