Well hello once again everyone and how have you all been, I hope fine and dandy.
As always this is a wonderful space and I hope, a secure space ,for me to share all the crazy things that I experience and that I think about life. This is a space I can utter my nonsense to you, from my own personal reality, and still put a smile on your faces.
So cut the clutter and the chatter, I hear some of you say and get on with the tale at hand, and so I shall, just in case you decide to do a rant like old grandmother Gertrude, who could rant and rave for days on end without tiring and I believe, as the story goes, she finally got shot by grandpa Jo who just about had enough of the old girl after 80 longs year! And so , grandpa Jo lived happily ever after with Bob the one legged tortoise and Petula their greyhound who had long turned blind, deaf and dumb – but they were company non-the-less.
Ok, for a very busy working mother of two boys, who is building a business, whilst also doing some temporary work in between times to keep the bailiffs from the door - the only two things I really have time and finances to treat myself to are a complimentary eyebrow shaping-up once every two weeks, by a very cute Barber who fancies the pants off me but who is about 15 years my junior. Now this is not to say that I cannot get the hots for a ‘junior’ once in a while, if you catch my drift - look but don’t touch ( and for those of you whose fingers are hovering over 999 (the police) or the NSPCC, Reeee.lax., I ain’t that kinda gal). But if I thought it worth my while, and wanted to risk my reputation and my life, believe me, I am sure I could find a nice little restaurant someplace to the far north of town and no-one but his mother would be able to find me, because you know it’s only a woman and her acute sense of intuition that could sniff out a liar and cheat without using her nose. But back to the tale.
The other thing that I do treat myself to is a trip to the gym at least three times a week where I can pamper myself to a wonderful snooze and relaxation time in the sauna afterwards. The snooze and relaxation part is always dependent upon who frequents the sauna with my goodself, as often times, I end up counseling or listening to the tales about the world and her mother in there. Sometimes, I wonder if I resemble ‘Ghandi’ or ‘Mother Teresa’. Other than these two treats, I very rarely notice or have time to think about such pleasantries as getting my finger nails done or a pedicure, which by now would entail the beautician using a hacksaw to rid my heels of the granite that has accumulated on it.
Anyways, the other day, I was sporting a sleeveless top and had just taken off my coat. At that moment in time, I had raised my arm as I was gesticulating to my two teenage boys, who are more like my father than anything else. I call them the inspection mafia, always watching what I wear, who looks at me, who smiles at me, making sure I am ‘appropriately’ dressed – nothing too tight, too short, because men would look at me and L.U.S.T. I had to shriek at them not long ago, like a deranged banshee after a couple of shorts of vodka on the rocks, a bottle of rum and a ‘herbal smoke’ - de ganja man, that men find me attractive even in a tracksuit and that I was old enough to be able to handle my goodself, thank you very much.
Anyways, there I was gesticulating to them both, when the younger and more loud mouthed and scary of the two said in guttural, base of a voice ‘mum, what’s wrong with you, can’t you look after yourself, why are your armpits so hairy. Nasteeeeee’ At that point in time, I could’ve chosen to bend down, take off my boots and dash them right in his head. But believe me, he was a huge child, tall, muscular for a 15 year old, and his bulk was no deterrent because he was also mighty fast, and in that instant had I been insane enough to have reacted the way I wanted to, I would have to pray to God to empower me with wings to fly. So I merely stood there, looking under my armpits, which I had not seen for quite a while actually with the realization that mummy yeti here needed to address a rather hairy matter, toute suite.
So one week later and before I tripped up on the hair that was now meandering its way down the sides of my waist, and when the boys had gone to visit their father, I thought I’d make this particular Thursday evening ‘Hair Cleansing Evening.’ So I lit some candles, burned some incense, ran me a bath with all manner of oils in it and set to task to de-hair my armpits and all the other places hair had hoarded its hairy self.
I used a cream, which I smothered on my body parts, in and with love. I would be a new woman by the end of the night. The cream was to be left on the body for 5-6 minutes it said on the tube no more than 10 minutes max. No problem, I mused as I was quite excited at the prospect of seeing my feet again and seeing my shin bone. Yes I had to get rid of the leg hair, the under-arm hair and hair on all my other nether bits (hush now, remember this is just between you and me). 11 minutes later….oops had I daydreamed somewhat? 10 minutes was supposed to be the max, using a cloth, I wiped off the cream. Hmmm nice arm pits, could now see my pores. Next my legs, nice, smooth and silky. Then my nether bits. Not quite sure what occurred here but by now a lot of the cream had shifted somewhat and spread a little more than I had anticipated and the designated area where I had originally spread the cream, had indeed spread.
By the time I finished wiping my bits and pieces with a nice damp cloth, what was left of any hair now resembled that of a Mohican. I contained my scream, believe me, and it was at that moment in time, when time indeed stood still for me, that I was glad, I was not ‘with partner or husband’ for had he seen the state of my bits and pieces, he would surely donate my good self to the museum of freaks. So for now – smooth as a baby’s bottom, I meander through life, wishing and hoping that my secret remains just that and hoping that for the next two weeks until things grow back nice, tidy and normal, that I would not need to be admitted into hospital for any reason whatsoever or have the misfortune to be caught up in an accident, where my clothes have to be cut free from my body, exposing my Mohican bits and pieces.
And on that note therefore, I have decided I must save up enough money to frequent a beauty salon next time to get it all waxed and professionally done. Yes, this will certainly prove to be much more painful but a more tidy process don’t you think me darlinks?
