As I no longer keep a ‘proper’ diary – well I do but it’s at the bottom of my handbag with pen marks and a random raisin stuck to it – I’ve decided to start a blog version instead. It won’t be as interesting as my teenage one then again my teens weren’t all that exciting if I’m honest I was a bit of a goody two shoes.
Dear Diary…this week I have realised that you should never get complacent and think that now she’s 4 your daughter will stop being quite so mischievous. Big fat metaphorical V sign behind my back to that one from her. Once I start running that washing up water it’s like a red rag to a bull and she’s off on her next adventure.
She covered her face in SuperStay 24 hour foundation that did NOT bloody want to come off. I had to take to Twitter to ask for help with removing it. How on earth do you shift something that doesn’t want to come off and you don’t have makeup remover? Coconut oil that’s how. Learn something new everyday. I Googled ‘on top of roof storage’ but the prices were sky high. Turning into my Dad I am. I swear.
Just when I got over the shock of her making herself biscuit coloured she goes and does something worse. It’s a Saturday afternoon, I’m sat at work having just got myself a coffee and thinking how amazing it is that I can drink it in peace. Pahaha. Pahahahahahahaha. Phonecall from the other half. “Little lady’s hair is falling out in handfuls, what the hell do I do?” So coffee gets poured out and I get home as quick as you like to find that the ‘hair that’s fallen out’ looks suspiciously neat and tidy. Like it’s been cut. Oh god…vague recollections flood my brain of a half listened to conversation with darling daughter about how she was playing hairdressers. “You know Mum, cut, cut, cut.” Only she wasn’t pretending was she? She’d found that pair of hairdressing scissors I bought on impulse and hid in my knicker drawer goodness knows how long ago.
It didn’t end there. Ohhhh no. She covered her whole leg in red glittery nail varnish the very next bloody day. Next time you think she’s with OH and OH thinks she’s with you? Check. For the love of God check. It’s highly likely that she’s painting her face with the eyeshadow you bought for best. Only it’s not ‘best’ now is it? It’s like the mashed up poo coloured Play – Doh version of eyeshadow. Not sure that’s gonna cut it at the party on the weekend.
I have a party to go to. Not a horrific softplay, kids battering crap out of each other on a massive sugar rush kind of party. An actual real life adults party. Not a swingers jobby mind you, just a fun Birthday party. A PARTY? What the frigging hell am I meant to wear? What do people wear to parties these days? Oh, this could all go so horribly wrong. What if I underplay it and everyone thinks I’m a scruffy cow and ask where Wayne is? What if I overplay it and get looks from everyone wondering who ‘the slag in the corner’ is? So many things to think about. Do I wear heels and risk falling on my face or wear flats and feel as though I couldn’t be arsed really? I’ll wing it. What could possibly go wrong…