beauty

One time, I was sitting cradling a cappuccino at a Wacky Warehouse party and fate had sat me next to a slim, glamour mum. Everything was going well , until she talked about spa weekends away she had with girlfriends, assuming I did the same.  Once I had picked my jaw up off the ground, I lost the will to live and wallowed in a sense of inadequacy which mellowed into resentment towards my other half, who was obviously denying me my civil liberties.

My beauty regime has certainly changed since having children,  I gave up wearing tailored jackets once the baby sick appeared. Some days I get to work and do not realise until someone points out, that I have tooth paste smeared all over some part of my clothing. (rarely my own toothpaste, you understand.)

Remember 90s big hair? I had The Rachel cut and used to spend time in the morning in Velcro curlers! If I manage to straighten my fringe these days it’s a miracle. I have also lost my tweezers,  I got a thick fringe cut so that no one could see the monsters that I now have for eyebrows.  I also appear to have a rogue whisker growing in my chin- arghh! Whilst on the subject of hair, I get mine cut about four  times a year, when they ask me if I want product I ask for everything! Last year someone bought me a hair set which included dry shampoo- it was a miracle in a can! It ran out a few months ago and I haven’t got round to buying anymore.  If I step foot in Boots the Chemists, it’s to buy Calpol.

Gone are the days when I would lock myself in the bathroom once a week and shave, pluck and scrub. I no longer have leave-in conditioner and my face mask is well passed its sell by.  We don’t have a full size bath, so at least my kids can’t jump in with me. One of my best friends is not allowed to have a bath without sharing. However, I am never in the bath that one of the girls doesn’t come in to use the toilet and either A) stare at my aging body, B) make a comment on my body or C) laugh at my body. I would like to inform them that they share my genes and I come from a long line of buxom country wenches, but I don’t want to give them nightmares. Instead I tell them that they are to blame for my belly.

Nothing on my body is trimmed, shaved or moisturised. My legs are scaly, I am turning into a reptile. My teeth are crooked and yellowing because I keep having to cancel dentist’s appointments, I’ve gained weight because I eat on the hop or finish off whatever they have left on their plates and my hair has some grey, but my girls say I’m beautiful and that’s good enough for me.