Hairspray queen...

So after several attempts involving hair grips, spray, a strange looking sponge sausage and what felt like seven thumbs and three fingers, I have finally given up on trying to coax my hair into a 1940's style Victory Roll.  But because I like to throw myself into everything with complete gusto, yesterday, after a frantic trawl across the internet, I bought a wig.

Now there is a risk that I may have panic-purchased.  For a start it's brunette, and beneath the grey and the highlights, I am marginally fairer, so unless I manage to get my own hair all hidden, I run the chance of looking like I have a small badger on my head. Secondly, it's only arriving today, and no doubt would have been vacuum-packed flat for several years till some numpty (me) bought it.  So the curl at the front might not even look as good as the one that I managed yesterday.  Anyway, I shan't worry too much because it comes with a headscarf, and as we all know, these can cover a multitude of sins and flat curls.  To be honest, the weather's not looking too good anyway, so I'll probably have to wear my very modern raincoat over my 1940's dress and nylon wig.  

Changing the subject somewhat, I went for a mammogram yesterday.  It's a special breed of lady which runs the mobile mammogram unit you know.  I walked in to be greeted by a curt smile, and 'Name please?'   then 'Date of birth?', and then finally, 'First line of your address?'  Having given all the correct answers, she ushered me into a side room, curtained off from the main area, and told me to strip to the waist.  'Someone will be with you shortly', she said, whipping the curtain shut to preserve my modesty.

So I stripped off and sat down on the bench waiting for the door to open.

'Come on in', said the Receptionist (changing into a white tunic wasn't going to fool me). 'Name please'.  I repeated it slowly, in case she hadn't heard me first time.  'Date of birth?'  With eyebrows raised, I gave the date again.  When she asked me for the first line of my address, I was sorely tempted to give her my house name instead of the number I'd given before as it may have got across to her how hacked off I was at repeating myself, but I showed a little restraint.

And why are their hands always cold?  She was a little rough as well, and I felt like I was being manhandled by a stroppy haddock with an ASBO.

And then it was done.  Back into the changing room, where I got dressed and into the waiting area, when the Receptionist/Nurse was back behind the desk.  'Everything alright?' she asked with a smile.  I wanted to say to her, 'Well you were there...you tell me love', but I smiled back and opening the door, released myself into the comparative sanity of the hospital car park.

Two weeks before I get the results - I expect she'll be writing the letter having done almost every other job...