A Slob Blog

What would the opposite of a fashion & beauty blog be called? I think Slob Blog might be my new calling.

I don’t want to be a slob but it just seems I can’t help it.  I can’t muster any interest in fashion or beauty.  I am hopeless at hair and make-up. I am a random shopper. I get sick of it after ten minutes and never find anything that looks good on me so usually panic buy something ridiculous that sits in my closet. I have always been bad but since I stopped working my confidence and interest is at an all time low.

I am the heaviest I have ever been despite doing more exercise now than I have since high school. No time to shop and no reason to dress nicely combined with feeling very dowdy and momish have all turned me into a definite slob.  I have holes in leggins and still wear them. I sweats with bleach stains and still wear them.  When I put on jeans, a nice top and boots my children’s eyes get big and they ask me why do you have fancy clothes on? Are you going to a wedding?

Needless to say I don’t spend much time in the hair salon’s of Kerry but I bit the bullet and made a hair appointment for last Saturday afternoon and talked myself into trying a six-week blow dry in an attempt to tame my wild frizzy hair. A previous desperate attempt led me to give up shampoo for three weeks – this is an actual ‘no poo’ movement you can read about on the internet (these things happen when I don’t work).

Now when I get to town by myself for an hour, its basically like competing in supermarket sweep. I run around from shop to shop trying to get all my errands and shopping done like a mad woman hitting the shops that are impossible with strollers or kids. So by the time I get to the salon, I have overflowing bags containing a biography for Hubby’s Christmas present, a headlamp, contact lenses, sulfate free shampoo for my post-blowdry hair, tennis balls (the obligatory errand request as I’m one foot out the door), teaspoons, dishtowels and a purple and fluorescent green broom. I didn’t have time to bring it all back to the car so I landed in the posh salon like a bag lady with a broom. The receptionist giggles while stuffing all the bags and broom into the coat closet along with my once nice red raincoat that is now grubby and strains at my wait when zipped.

There are lots of young women with trendy ( odd) hair styles, bold make-up, fake tan, and stylish (if not a bit puzzling) black outfits that all make me feel wrinkly, frumpy and very beige even though I have my town clothes on for the day.  I make awkward chitchat with the ‘stylist’ who trims my hair and feel like an impostor while she tries to chat with me about the Signature Blow-dry I booked on impulse.  I don’t have the words to make conversation about my hair – yes, it’s very thick.  I don’t know how to do anything with it and no one ever has any great ideas since I never even dry it, let alone straighten it so I bury my head in some celebrity gossip.

The fancy blow-dry involved two women on either side of my head spraying chemicals and working away with hair dryers and brushes.  They again try to make conversation but I can’t hear them and after I laugh in response to their usual “Are you going out tonight?” question I am sure they are thinking, “Lady, why are you bothering?”

I pay attention when I hear one of them say the 12 week blow-dry costs 250 euro though!

What?! In my hurry to make the appointment, I hadn’t asked the price and now my heart is pounding at the possibility the 6 week one might be half that price…oh my god.

Thankfully it turns out to be only about 20 euro more than a regular cut and blow dry and it looks very nice. As I pay, one of the black clad ladies goes to get my coat and bags.  The broom clatters onto the floor while I load up my hands with all the bags.  She hands me the broom handle and the head falls onto the ground.  I stuff that into a bag and head out the door.

I am strutting along with my light, swishy hair feeling like this was a successful trip to the hair dresser when I feel a sharp tug backwards.

I turn around to see that my purple broom handle has snared a woman by the strap of her handbag strap and held her and I both hostage.

I hope this blow-dry is sweat proof.

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