Upper lip hair

I am excited to be getting a well overdue child free afternoon. The man is on caring duties while I go out with buddy for a little adventure. Pal of mine has decided that after having her own little bundle of joy (now age 4) that good old mother nature has been less than kind to her lady lumps. We are off to her first consultation for a boobie job.

As my own view’s on cosmetic surgery are mixed, I am interested enough to tag along. Hearing that they also offer laser hair removal at the clinic my moustache and I could be persuaded to reconsider.

On arrival at the clinic we are greeted by the suspicious looks of two well presented older ladies at reception. They inform us that our appearance shows we are clearly looking for the cosmetic section which is next door. I am unsure how to take this - are they suggesting we need it, or that we look like we have had it? I am secretly chuffed that they believe I could ever afford it either way.

Entering the correct office we are asked to be seated in the waiting area while buddy completes various health forms. I take this opportunity to take a good look at the others (all women) seated waiting. I have to admit how surprised I am at how normal everyone looks. In the far corner there is a women whom I guess is in her late thirties dressed in jeans and a white t shirt. There is nothing spectacular about her and she seems to be in proportion. I wonder what she is in need of sculpting. Over to my left sits a younger girl, probably early twenties who is very flatchested. I guess that she is here for a chat about the her lack of lumps. Away with my thoughts I don’t realise that I am actually staring directly at her chest with a confused look. Young girl catches my eye and then promptly crosses her arms. I immediately flush red as I had really not meant to offend, in fact, had been just thinking that having a flat chest must have huge advantages. By the look on her face I think that I may have convinced her otherwise.

I decide to keep my eyes to myself, and thankfully we are called in.


Forty minutes later after watching the nurse measure and grope my buddy we are leaving with a list of pros and cons. I can’t say that I would be doing it myself but perhaps if the cost was no object I could be swayed.

Just as we close the door behind us the one opposite opens. A rather chubby looking thirty something emerges with a bright red chin. She loudly discusses her laser hair removing treatment while pal and I stand jaws touching the floor. The fact that she appears to have third degree burns to her face seems not to be a problem for Mrs. Laser lady.

In that instant I have made up my mind.

Boobies?…. Maybe. Laser?…. NO!

Upper lip hair is the new black.

Victim of Crime

I am sad to say that the man and I have been victims of crime.

Heading over to unlock our car this morning I discovered that some low life has saved me the job by breaking into it last night. Contents of the glove compartment were scattered, Cd’s all over the floor and a large plastic panel kindly ripped out from under the steering wheel as an extra bonus. Great. Clearly the dirty theve’s had wanted to hotwire our family wagon but had not quite managed it.

The dirty rotten losers.

I start to be thankful for the minimal damage just as a sick feeling begins to churn in my stomach. Yesterday had been spent shopping for stepson’s impending birthday. preventing sneaky little eyes peeking at them we had left them ‘safely’ locked in the boot.

Worst luck, as the boot opens I saw that they had indeed found our stash and nabbed them all. My upset immediately turned into raging anger. Not knowing whether to cry or punch something in my frustration. Only the man around to hit I chose crying as the safer option. He called the boy’s in blue while I decided to sob and curse on the pavement.

The man’s face became so red I actually begin to worry that it may fall off. With there being no point in us both losing the plot I decided that a relaxing panting technique should be encouraged. His reaction to this suggestion was an even more crimson shade.

An hour later I am standing in the toy shop. An overwhelming feeling of groundhog day swept over me. Same toy’s in basket, same slow sales woman and same annoying jingle on the overhead speakers. On a day like this I truly think emigrating is the only safe option.

As I left the shop with my faith in people at an all time low. I Felt an invasion of my space as a scruffy looking vagrant type tapped me on the shoulder. Rolling my eye’s at another impending drama I then noticed my purse in his hand.

“you left this by the till” he explained.

Flushed, I thanked him profusely and to my surprise was even tempted to give him a hug. Opting to shake his hand instead, a sense of well-being slowly returned.

Might have to put that emigrating idea on the back burner for now.

Croydon has it‘s good points. Primark for example…