Life's a bastard...but sometimes it lets up

The life and times of an ordinary Dublin girl. Follow her journey as she finds out working from home really ISN'T about watching Oprah all day and that perhaps men aren't really all bastards.

Sunday, March 11, 2007

Fringes and other musings......

IT was about two months ago that I decided to do it.

My birthday. I was sick of my old look and decided to give myself a new one. Nothing drastic now, but something that people would notice.

In I swept to the hair dressers, handing my new Monsoon full length woollen cardigan/coat (a birthday present) to the assistant, announcing - "It is I, peasants. Make me beautiful!"

There was a silence. It was Peter Mark. I was not famous.

Suitably chastised I followed the girl to the basin and after a very vigorous hair wash (do they not realise there's an actual head attached to the hair they're pumelling into submission?) I was seated in front of the mirror.

"So what can I do for you today, cut is it?" the girl asked.

"Erm, yes, just a trim but....would it be possible for me to have........a fringe too?" I said.

This last bit I said in a hushed whisper, almost afraid to utter the words. You see, the last fringe I had was in 1987, fashioned by my father using blunt scissors and a cigarette as a guide. It was not a good look.

This time however, I wanted a modern 'sweepy' fringe, longer at one end than the other, which would make me look nice and fashionable, and nothing whatsoever like my 1980s self.

"No problem," said the girl, getting to work with her scissors "leave it to me."

The end result was a beautiful sweeping, shiny fringe, perfectly shorn, falling just into my eyes, long enough to look sultry but short enough not to blind me.

I was gorgeous for about three days, then I had to wash and blow-dry my hair myself. What started out as a gorgeous straight shiny sweepy fringe, ended up being wispy and frizzy, forming itself into a Farrah Fawcett type peak at the side of my head. Endless 'training' it with a hair grip and using gallons of wax couldn't tame it, though it does calm down a bit about a day after being washed.

It was only when I saw a recent photograph of myself with it that I realised it had to go. It was stuck to my forehead, all gappy and forming itself into the aforementioned horn and that combined with my extraordinary pale face and rictus grin made me realise that perhaps I was better off without it.

So does anyone know the best way to get rid of a fringe? Do I have to wait 800 years til it grows out or is there anything I can do about it now? Failing that, exactly how do I blow-dry a fringe so that it sits right? Answers on a postcard please.

And now to the 'other musings' I mentioned in the subject of this post. Last week I celebrated my six-month anniversary with The Boyfriend which I'm very chuffed about. We went out to a very lovely restaurant (you know the type of place, they call gravy 'jus') and ate lamb, duck and perfectly more-ish gnocchi in basil cream sauce and looked lovingly into each other's eyes. Well, we tried to do that, but it was pretty hard considering the amount of cutlery and plates and glasses on the table in front of us! Why three knives and forks?! Why four glasses? Why 18 different side plates and napkins and candles and accoutrements? There was hardly room for the grub! In saying that, everything was delicious and the staff were excellent so we can't complain. Much.

Truth be told though, I'm actually amazed we've lasted so long. Not because there's anything wrong with him, or indeed me, it's just I've had the most God-awful luck with men and usually by this stage I'd have been dumped and would be performing my voodoo rituals. For some reason though he seems to actually like me and we're getting on famously! It must be love! You may all now stick your fingers down your throat and roll your eyes. Yes, we're THAT cute.

Last night after getting in from the cinema (Babel, very slow and the part of the story situated in Japan didn't add anything at all, was just plain weird) I was reading in bed. It was about 2.30am when all of a sudden a massive spider scuttled out from behind my bed and up the wall. Startled, I jumped up and squished it with my book (yes, yes, I know I should have 'scooped it into a jar and let it free outside' [thanks Boyfriend!] but I just didn't think). After that though, stupidly, I stayed awake until about 5am staring fiercely at all four corners of my room, afraid that the other members of Spidy's family would come get me. Mock me if you will (and I know you will) it was a very valid fear at the time! So now I'm afraid to get back into my bed and sleep. Who needs sleep sure, it's overrated.

Tomorrow I have to go and mind my 16-month-old niece. She likes to play with potatoes. Oh dear.

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