Beauty School dropout

 

Bless me Crystal (my hairdresser), for I have sinned.

 

It’s been 8 months (at least) since my last haircut.

 

Yes, I could have gone to ‘Sue at site 137’ back in Perth for a $12 special, but I’m tight, reasonably vain, & Sue is not you.

 

Instead I preferred to hack away indiscriminately at my own split ends… & my bangs… & my chin hairs.

I’m sure I’ve done such a good job & I’m totally confident no one will notice.

 

Until my next haircut.

 

I’ve been going grey since I was 17.

 

That’s cool. Some people look awesome in silver.

 

My grey hair, however, makes me look like a corpse.

 

I was sick of worrying that Pepe le Pew was going to come at me from behind, so I splashed out 15 big ones, got my usual colour, & did my very best not to get it all over the 3 Pubes rated sink at Karrinyup Waters Resort, Gwellup.

 

Thank Christ they were little, private ensuite bathrooms.

 

I smothered the grey roots but you know I’m too impatient to wait the required 15 minutes before refreshing the rest of my dead head, so the colour build up on the ends could be quite impressive by the end of this trip.

 

That was over 3 months ago.

 

The grey hairs are back. Longer & more pube-like than ever.

 

With a box of hair dye in my back pocket, I had intended to return myself from The Dead & tackle them them when we got to Onslow.

 

But now I’m not so sure.

 

I’m thinking of going grey. Very ungracefully.

 

Just for a bit.

 

To see what it’s like.

 

I haven’t seen my natural hair colour since 1995.

 

How bad can it be?

 

Don’t answer that.

 

 

It’s hard maintaining a beauty regime ever on the road.

You barely ever see the same people twice & there’s not that many mirrors around so you tend to not give too much of a toss about how you look.

 

Or how many weeks days in a row you wear the same clothes.

 

As long as my pits don’t stink & my toenails don’t clip on the ground when I walk, I’m generally happy.

 

That said, now that we’re staying put for the school term, something really should be done about the state of me.

 

The eyebrows? …Ugh!

 

The toe nails? …Erck!

 

My  heels? …Eeeeewww! They look like they belong to some 68 year old, diabetic truck driver named Trevor.

There isn’t a pumice stone (or angle grinder) in the world that would be big enough to tackle them. I could choke an entire tank of those little, Thai foot-eating fish.

 

The bikini line? …What bikini line? There is no actual ‘line’ it just blends with the rest.

A lot like this…

At least it means my sideburns don’t stand out as much.

 

And sure, we’ve been to a lot of spectacular places but too may bright white beaches & sunny days mean a whole lot of squinting.

24/7 with my kids & fisherman husband means a whole lot of frowning.

Only injected botulinum toxin (or a complete mental breakdown) will have any effect on these ravine-sized face creases.

 

All that time in the sun has a serious effect on the old décolletage too or, as they call it in the bizz, your “dec”. Ask anyone who works for Ella Bache & they’ll tell you the importance of a sun cream & moisturising regime for your “dec”.

 

(Side note: I would never refer to my décolletage as my “dec”. It hardly qualifies. It’s more like a very small patio. And even that’s stretching the truth.)

 

I have tried though.

 

Not once have I been sunburnt. But the continuous sun exposure has left my small patio feeling like one of those tanned kangaroo scrotum purses & looking very similar. Anymore sun exposure & I’m likely to come back looking like this…

 

I really should start wearing turtlenecks.

 

 

Unusually for me, I have a tan at the moment. I call it “Whiter Shade of Pale”. With extra freckles.

 

My skin in general has been up to shit thanks to all that sun cream I have to wear & the fact that I have to bathe in my own filth that bucket. It’s disgusting feeling greasy & pimply all the time. Kind of like being back in high school.

 

And I don’t know what it is, all this fresh air, good livin’, or an early onset of menopause, but what is WITH all these hairs sprouting out of my face!?

 

It’ll take some sort of magic to clean this mess up.

Unfortunately, I’m no magician.

 

I can’t pull a rabbit out of a hat, but I can pull a hair out of an arsehole.

 

So with my epilator in one hand & a forest management manual in the other, it’s time to bight down on a strap & do my worst.

 

Wish me luck.

 

 

What have I learned so far?

 

• The extension mirrors you have to have for towing a caravan are AWESOME for plucking hairs out of your face/nose your eyebrows.

 

• I’m in my thirties now. Always, ALWAYS check under your chin… and up your nose.

 

• It doesn’t hurt to check the old inner thighs as well. Specially if you intend to wear shorts that sit above the knee.