So I need to tell you a story, I’m just not exactly sure how I am going to manage it, because I know it’s going to sound way better when told than written, but bear with me and I will do the best I can.
I’ve never been a girly girl, in fact when I was younger I was a downright tomboy. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve worn a dress (childhood excluded, I had no choice!!) and when I was forced into my new job as a personal secretary I was distraught at the thought I might have to wear a skirt everyday. Thankfully I have very understanding bosses who were content with me continuing to wear jeans as long as the top half looked semi presentable.
I rarely wear make up, but I can assure you I do shower everyday just in case any of you are thinking I am a total lost cause. Anyway, there is a point to all this, I promise. Sometimes where beauty is concerned a tomboy like myself will require external help, or if things are really bad perhaps divine intervention. Take for example my eyebrows, when they start to affect my vision then I know that it is time for a visit to the beautician. So I asked my friend could I tag along next time she was going and because she loves me, or is an eejit, she said I could.
Now you have to understand I know the beautician, albeit that I had not seen her for a very long time. She’s the daughter of the lady who cuts my hair and who also came to cut Mum’s every week before she passed away. So on arrival there are the usual pleasantries, haven’t seen you in ages and that kind of thing and we wait until it is our time to be seen.
Our time arrives and my friend and I go into the little room and at this point I’m feeling particularly brave, so I go first. First up is the dying of the eyelashes, piece of cake, next comes the waxing of the eyebrows, holy feck I think I’m going to die. This girl is good at her job, I mean really good, and I thought I had a good tolerance for pain, but clearly it doesn’t extend to above my neck. You’d need a face made of leather to not feel that shit! The pain is worth it though when she holds the mirror up and through your tears you catch sight of the perfectly poised brows that have replaced the caterpillars that used to reside there.
Next it’s my friends turn and clearly she has a face made of leather cos it does not fizz on her at all.
So while all this is going on I am sitting in the corner secretly distraught at the fact that I’ve made an arse of myself , being such a wimp where the old waxing was concerned. Anyway the front door opens and shuts and this girl walks up the corridor and I am convinced it’s one of my cousins, of which there are four sisters. So I said to the beautician is that Caroline (the name of one of my cousins) and she says no, that’s Christine (which is also a name of one of the four cousins) and I said, oh Christine Smith and she said yes. So thinking I’m being really funny I shout at the top of my voice ‘Oi Christine’ and there is silence, so I shout it again, only louder this time and from the other room comes this wee voice saying ‘Who me? and I shouts ‘Yes you, get your arse in here, NOW!’ extremely gruffly.
So here I am in the corner sniggering away and this girl puts her heard through the door and I look at her kinda stupid looking and she looks at me kinda WTF looking and then she looks at the beautician and then she looks at my friend and no one says a word. Eventually my friend breaks the silence, because what feels like 3 hours has passed and no one has said anything and directing her question at me my friend asks ‘Do you know this girl?’
It was one of those moments where I wished the ground would open up and swallow me because I had to say, now rather sheepishly might I add, ‘Actually, I don’t’. At that point everyone, including the girl who although she had the same name, was clearly not my cousin started to laugh. The problem was, they were not laughing with me, they were laughing at me and now my whole face matched the belisha beacon red of my previously tortured eyebrows.
Thankfully everyone saw the funny side of the whole incident and I was fine too, once the anxiety attack passed.
I get the distinct impression though that my friend will never let me tag along again!
Please note, for the purpose of this post the names of my cousins were changed to protect their identity. I have a feeling that they wouldn’t want to be associated with me either.
In my defence though, through my half opened, tear stained eyes, the doppelgänger as well as having the same name did look quite similar to my cousin.