Perfection, perfection, perfection. The one thing that is common in several women's aspirations whether concerning relationships, careers or more often than not; appearance. I myself, have to admit that upon looking in the mirror, I often discover flaws; be it dry skin, spots or the dreaded facial hair!
This last point is the one I would like to pick up on, in particular, the eyebrow! Unfortunately, I seem to have inherited my eyebrows from my Dad... Hence, they are large, black, fast growing and ultimately, incredibly unattractive! Until 3 years ago, the masculinity that controlled my face directed all attention away from my lengthy, coal-black eyelashes and golden wavy hair. Meaning that even as a young girl, self-consciousness ruled over me.
So, imagine my joy when the time came that I was allowed to thread those overgrown caterpillars!. Not to mention, the relief when I walked out of the shop; the whole of the upper third of my face a crimson shade, eyelashes stuck together from watering eyes and mascara dribbling down my cheeks. The grin I wore did not seem to coincide with the rest of my complexion- not that I cared!
My happiness, however, was short-lived. Seemingly, only a couple of days later (although apparently it was more like a few weeks!) stray hairs started to reappear- depicting my face as ungroomed, untamed and once again pushing my appearance closer and closer to that of the other sex! Nevermind, I thought, I have a tweezers, I can sort this out.
Within a matter of minutes my eyebrows were pretty much no more! The constant tweaking and plucking in order to make them look half-symmetrical resulted in me removing far too much hair on both- and yet still they remained uneven! So, back to the salon I went!
This cycle is still repeating every couple of weeks, each time I'll tell myself that I'll be more careful, only take out the hairs that REALLY need to go. Nonetheless, I find myself providing the shop with no doubt half its income as I traipse in twice a month with a disaster on my forehead!
Thursday, 29 August 2013
Thursday, 15 August 2013
Up for running the marathon? Hmmm not quite....
Exercise is a strenuous word in itself! Every time it is uttered, a rising wave of guilt fills our chest followed shortly after by the need of a little comfort, usually found in a bright purple wrapper or a shiny metal tin. Oh well.... I've already had 6 packets of biscuits today... I'll start again tomorrow. Except, that tomorrow forever exposes itself as out of our grasp; always on our mind, sure, but never quite within the folds of sanity it seems.
Constant reminders depict our laziness every minute of every day; the 'Zumba class' posters in the library, the signposts leading to the gym at the end of the road, the lonesome jogger.... And then we come to our senses; how could it be healthy to have skin the colour of a beetroot? Surely that much water pouring from your forehead is a symptom of some foreign, incurable disease? As for the heaving: that undoubtedly means a heart attack is on the way, no? All these small reassurances seem to convince us that we are in fact safer without exercise. Yet somehow those little doubts still manage to worm their way into our head... obesity... diabetes... heart disease... Yeah. But that won't be me. That stuff happens to other people.
I know how much effort it is, to forcefully drag yourself away from that longed-for lie-in, to squeeze into those lycra shorts and to face the biting air of Saturday morning. It's disgusting, it's off-putting, it's terribly hard but worth it (ah cliche!) !
I know, I'm a fine one to talk; sitting here behind a screen right now, a large selection of empty sweet wrappers collaged upon my duvet! Nonetheless, it seems so many people do it, perhaps sweating until you are a beautiful, post-box shade of red is good for you? One thing I am sure about, is that seeing anyone you know whilst in this state is certainly the opposite of good!
Constant reminders depict our laziness every minute of every day; the 'Zumba class' posters in the library, the signposts leading to the gym at the end of the road, the lonesome jogger.... And then we come to our senses; how could it be healthy to have skin the colour of a beetroot? Surely that much water pouring from your forehead is a symptom of some foreign, incurable disease? As for the heaving: that undoubtedly means a heart attack is on the way, no? All these small reassurances seem to convince us that we are in fact safer without exercise. Yet somehow those little doubts still manage to worm their way into our head... obesity... diabetes... heart disease... Yeah. But that won't be me. That stuff happens to other people.
I know how much effort it is, to forcefully drag yourself away from that longed-for lie-in, to squeeze into those lycra shorts and to face the biting air of Saturday morning. It's disgusting, it's off-putting, it's terribly hard but worth it (ah cliche!) !
I know, I'm a fine one to talk; sitting here behind a screen right now, a large selection of empty sweet wrappers collaged upon my duvet! Nonetheless, it seems so many people do it, perhaps sweating until you are a beautiful, post-box shade of red is good for you? One thing I am sure about, is that seeing anyone you know whilst in this state is certainly the opposite of good!
Thursday, 8 August 2013
Brace face
At 16 years old, I have been having regular trips to the orthodontist for the past 5 years. And finally precisely 6 days 19 hours and 50 minutes ago my teeth have been wired up and fixed into place for the next two years. Yet, rather than happiness and relief that something was finally being done to sort out my unobliging gnashers- all I felt was pain!
Every morning I wake up to metal embedded in my bottom lip, wire practically piercing my cheek and an aching in my gums due to my teeth being pushed every which way imaginable. And this is just after sleeping; imagine eating! As a person who is always counting down to the next meal, braces proved to be more than a little tiresome. With so many foods crossed out of my diet for me (fizzy drinks, crisps, apples) the rest remained to simply be crossed of myself; I mean seriously- have you ever tried crunching down on toast with a train track (quite literally!) glued to your teeth? Consequently, I found myself left with yoghurt and baby food- the latter of the two appearing slightly more appetising!
So after years of waiting I became sorely disappointed; I guess I should've been more careful about what I wish for!
Every morning I wake up to metal embedded in my bottom lip, wire practically piercing my cheek and an aching in my gums due to my teeth being pushed every which way imaginable. And this is just after sleeping; imagine eating! As a person who is always counting down to the next meal, braces proved to be more than a little tiresome. With so many foods crossed out of my diet for me (fizzy drinks, crisps, apples) the rest remained to simply be crossed of myself; I mean seriously- have you ever tried crunching down on toast with a train track (quite literally!) glued to your teeth? Consequently, I found myself left with yoghurt and baby food- the latter of the two appearing slightly more appetising!
So after years of waiting I became sorely disappointed; I guess I should've been more careful about what I wish for!
Thursday, 1 August 2013
Today I have experienced my first hour and a half of true work. You may wonder how it is, if I am working, that I am able to update my blog? The answer is simple; there is nothing to do here! Yep, that's right I am currently being paid to sit it this incredibly comfy 'swingy' chair- which I have been given the luxury of using and update my blog! Is this what all work is like, I wonder?
Anyway, to bring you up to speed, I am basically acting as a temporary fill-in for the receptionist here. So far, in the initial stages of my 'new job', I have answered the phone with a pleasant-enough 'Good afternoon!' at 9.27 in the morning, referred to someone by shouting down the phone 'Is that Dad?' and caused the neat-little-remote-thing that allows you to open the door without moving from this comfy chair to fly of the wall. Not to mention, I have had an exceptional amount of trouble placing someone's details on the lanyard due to the newly-acryliced nails I am coping with!
None the less, sitting high up in this chair, behind this workable, if a little outdated computer makes me feel very important. Hence, to summarise- I guess working is not too bad after all!
Anyway, to bring you up to speed, I am basically acting as a temporary fill-in for the receptionist here. So far, in the initial stages of my 'new job', I have answered the phone with a pleasant-enough 'Good afternoon!' at 9.27 in the morning, referred to someone by shouting down the phone 'Is that Dad?' and caused the neat-little-remote-thing that allows you to open the door without moving from this comfy chair to fly of the wall. Not to mention, I have had an exceptional amount of trouble placing someone's details on the lanyard due to the newly-acryliced nails I am coping with!
None the less, sitting high up in this chair, behind this workable, if a little outdated computer makes me feel very important. Hence, to summarise- I guess working is not too bad after all!
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