Sunday, 1 May 2016

Welcome to the jungle...

Words from a Bird.  Day 122.

'Morning Iggy'....this was my mother's greeting as I walked into the restaurant Saturday morning for our weekly breakfast.  Just as well I had already removed my new trendy sunglasses before going in.  I had decided in the car on the way over that they weren't such a great idea.  I had done a double take in the rear view mirror, as for a nano-second I thought Ozzie Osborne had hitched a ride while I wasn't looking.  I am slowly realising that when you change your hairstyle as dramatically as I have, some thought is needed with regard to how you deal with it.

Of course, we all know how any sort of moisture in the air can destroy the sleek locks.  This means that a shower cap is de rigeur when carrying out my daily ablutions.  Of course, the chemist had nothing vaguely sensible, so I am lumbered with a psychedelic floral number.  Every time I put it on, I have to pull a 'mad old lady with no teeth of her own' face in the mirror.  It was quite funny the first few times, but the more I do it, the easier it is to see what the future holds for me and my face. 

It's at times like this that I silently thank the husband for the substantial lock on my bathroom door,  I am sure that if he ever walked in on me wearing nothing but my LSD-inspired shower cap, the sight would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Wind can be a bit of a challenge too...  It's fine when it's blowing towards you, as it pushes the hair away from your face in a kind of Elnett moment.  All very glamorous.  However, a change in wind direction is catastrophic, as I discovered yesterday morning.  As my hair wrapped itself across my face, I couldn't see where I was going, and grabbed wildly at it to try and hold it away from my eyes (should've left the Ozzie shades on).  Bearing  in mind that I was also carrying a bunch of gladioli and a handbag I must have looked like a poor man's Morrissey waving my blooms around frantically.

By the time I got back to my car, my glads were looking anything but, having developed a neat joint about half way up their long stems, and I resembled a 'before' picture on a FrizzEase advert.  But, and this is where the miracle happened, once in the car, I combed my hair.....hallelujah!  Everything just slipped back into place and once again I looked like Iggy Pop, groomed and polished.

So having spent the morning resembling various aging rock and pop stars, I pulled into home, where the husband was earning copious Brownie points doing what I call 'blue jobs' in the garden. He was repairing fence panels (bloody wind has a lot to answer for) and building a wall.

'I've just realised who you look like with that hair' says the husband.

'Who?' I asked, slightly worried as to what his answer would be.

'Linda....'

'Which one?  McCartney? Robson? Blair? Lovelace?'

'Not them,  the one out of Dallas...Sue-Ellen....'

That'll be Linda Gray then....I can live with that. 

Well at least he didn't say Axel Rose.  That was also suggested today...
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