Skip to main content

I feel pretty...

Words from a Bird.  Day 92.

It is with some relief that I finally found time (between the ironing basket, the oven and the puppy) to book myself in for a well earned CACI facial today.

'But you look so young',  I hear you say....  This is what I like to believe you're saying, but I'm sure a lot of you are wondering how bad I would actually look if I didn't go for these facials regularly.

CACI is quite an unusual facial in that it doesn't just involve lotions and potions.  It demands tenacity, commitment and a gentle therapist (thank you Mrs H) as there is ELECTRICITY involved.  I started these just over a year ago, and having had the initial 10 sessions in very quick succession, I am now on maintenance, treating myself to one or two a month.

Unfortunately, life has somewhat got in the way over the last few weeks, so I haven't made it down to the salon.  I feel that my face has dropped so far and fast, that should I have actually found the time for a quick pedicure this last month, the therapist would have been well advised to wear a hard hat.

With so much pressure on us girls to look fabulous as we get older, this is my small nod towards 'doing my best' where my face is concerned.  With regard to the rest of me (that would be the bits covered in clothing which no one else sees) that gets very little attention.  A scrub down with a coarse flannel and a flick round with a disposable razor is the extent to which I'll go.  No one sees it (except the husband, and he has a very high pain threshold and a strong stomach) so why bother?

I do sometimes wonder whether the husband will make a complaint about me under the Trade Descriptions Act, as there are times when my face looks like it's been on this planet about 30 years less than the rest of me.

But he never has.  I have his longsighted vision to thank for this, as anything closer than a meter to him immediately goes into soft focus.

Very useful when you haven't shaved your legs for a fortnight...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Say goodbye...

Here's a question for you.  Why is it that when we are dieting, we say that we have 'lost weight'.  To me this implies that at some time in the not so distant future, we're going to find it again.  I like to imagine a 28lb blob of yellow fat in a three piece suit, winking lasciviously at me and saying, 'Oi skinny.  I've missed you.  Fancy letting me ride shotgun around those hips again?'
So instead of 'losing weight' I am getting rid of it.  Throwing it away.  Killing it.   Banishing it, never to be seen again.  Previous experience tells me that I will probably have old Blobby hanging back around my middle in a couple of years, once I've tired of leaves and crispbreads, but I am trying to do things slightly different this time.  Slowing down the stampeding rate I eat (I blame hurried school lunches for this), speeding up the walking, and being more aware of what I am doing and why I am doing it.
Someone once told me that if I ever felt like pickin…

Cold wind blows...

I don't know how cold it is with you at the moment, but I spent yesterday morning snapping the two furballs off various trees and posts as we attempted a walk before I went to work.  I had made the schoolgirl error of asking myself, 'Just how cold can it be?' before putting one extra sweater on beneath my walking coat.  I also had my Olga from the Volga fur hat, a scarf and gloves (to be fair, I've been wearing all of these since the middle of October).  Unfortunately, what I hadn't taken into consideration was the above the knee dress I was wearing to work yesterday.  I imagined that the extra warmth up top would somehow work its way to my knees.  
I was wrong.
Getting back indoors after forty five minutes of combat with The Beast from the East, I looked down at my legs.  Even with the black 100 denier tights I was wearing, I could see that my legs had taken on a slightly different hue to normal.  They were looking like two red pillar boxes, and it took ten minutes …

A man could go quite mad...

I have started to realise that there are many things about me which drive the husband mad.  When you first get together, those small faults are cute and a little bit quirky.  However, fast forward a couple of decades and they become a fairly acceptable excuse for manslaughter.  
I started thinking about this after the contretemps with the cutlery drawer a couple of weeks ago.  If you remember, the husband informed that that I was messing with his feng shui by putting the boiled egg spoons in with the dessert forks.  He only seemed to notice that I did this after I bought a new cutlery tray for the drawer, so I'm blaming Groupon for grassing me up.
The other thing is my snoring.  When we first met, this was described as 'endearing', and he told me that as he lay next to me at night, he used to smile to himself and listen to me.  This swiftly moved on to comparisons with a nasally challenged warthog, and more recently to a Boeing 747 with a noisy exhaust.  I'm considerate …