Granted I will not make the New Weekly’s page for Beauty Tips this week and sure I will never make Who’s most beautiful list. One thing I will make is Ordinary woman’s least high maintenance list.
See I notice the wrinkles and I despair. And I go and buy an anti-aging product which I productively use for say oh, one whole week. Then I, to be blatantly honest, can’t be bothered anymore.
I look at my feet. They would scare even the little Asian ladies who do the mass pedicures in the shopping centres for a living. I bought a ped-egg. You know the one. The object shaped like an egg, flogged on late night TV and basically grates dead skin off your feet. Oh how we ridiculed this at work. Laughing at the ads on YouTube. But then I tried it and sweet Jesus, I was reborn. I had baby soft heals. I no longer ripped up the sheets when I went to bed each night. My husband wasn’t physically repulsed by my feet on his lap watching TV. But then I get lazy and right now, let’s just say you wouldn’t want to be standing behind me on an escalator and view these suckers up close.
My fingernails, well they just don’t even rate a mention. Sure I could go pay for someone to give me some awesome French tips and I would look like I deserved to rock up to the Versace buffet on any given night, but within 3 days I know I would either chip them, lose them in the potato salad or just be unable to type come work on Monday.
My makeup regime too, leads much to be desired. Sometimes I wear foundation to work. More often than not though I don’t get a chance to apply it in the morning. What between cleaning up the spilt weetbix and finding poo nuggets left on a Hansel and Gretel styled trail down the hallway, it just doesn't get done. Lipstick doesn't last longer than 2 cups of coffee. ie. past 8am. I wear glasses (and no I hardly ever wear contacts) and therefore I don’t wear mascara. Or eye shadow.
Last but not least and most important is my hair. I have hair that can only be described as Ronald McDonald on Crack.
Ok, maybe that’s overboard but my hair is curly, frizzy and if it were orange I could don big red clown shoes and sit on that that park bench in Maccas and kids would gleefully sit on my lap (or try and punch me in the guts depending on said child)
I colour the continuous greys with hair dye from the supermarket. I have had my hair coloured once on a holiday in Melbourne. They charged $280 for some streaks that I couldn’t see. Mad experience sure, but think I got the gist of further treatments to come.
I didn’t grow up with a beauty regime. Perhaps if I did the above admissions would disgust me, however Mum wasn’t a big talker when it came to makeup or perfume or being girly. So sure I could have wigged out and went apeshit on the blush as a teen but I just didn’t get the chance.
So I now think, heading towards 35 it’s time for me to slowly but surely start taking care of myself. Starting with some beauty sleep...