Beavergate.

I’m going to start this by saying if you’re somebody who believes your partner’s perfectly coiffeured lady garden or manscape naturally grows (or doesn’t appear to grow) in the pretty shape you see, then stop reading now. If your my brother, you probably won’t wanna read this either!

For the rest of us, who live in the real world of plucking and waxing, please read on.

Photo credit to Allie Dragoo on Flickr

I dunno what possessed me Friday, to go and have a bikini wax. I mean I’ve had them before, they’re not fun. Maybe it’s the hot weather, tricking my brain into falsely preparing for a holiday I’m not going on…I dunno, I normally just DIY it with a tube of Veet at home. (I tried home waxing once. NOT.WORTH.THE.SAVING! First strip was manageable but forget about it after that, your brain now knows the pain you’re about to inflict on YOURSELF again and won’t allow it. The wax then starts drying, making it harder to pull off ensuing in an even more painful, slightly bloodier experience.)  Anyway, I normally go a little bit out of my area, I don’t need anybody I’m likely to run into at the nursery knowing what my lady bits look like. Plus the place I normally go to, in the grand scheme of waxing one’s nether regions, is amazing. However, these precious couple of child free hours are hard to come by (and no it’s not a 2hr job to cultivate my booosh, smart ass!) so I thought I’d chance a local salon……..

I notice as I walk in the door, there’s a special on “The Hollywood” today…hmm…no thanks, not my style. Now although the salon is full of ladies getting primped and preened, I still don’t feel comfortable shouting “hey-ay, I wanna get me fananny waxed please” over the hum of the hair dryer, so I just mumble an answer to the lady asking. Who in turn, very loudly relays that I’m here for a hollywood to her co-worker. I’m not but we can discuss styling once I’m not standing in the bloody doorway.

Said co-worker…we’ll call her Tina, for handiness sake, beckoned me to follow. I explain I’d just like a brazilian. Brazil’s always appealed to me more than Hollywood anyway. In Irish terms, your one basically says, “grand job, no bother, drop your knickers and hop up there like a flattened buddha”, and so I do. Now since attending the non-local Mecca of waxing, I’ve been forever seeking the local version annnnd I’m still currently searching, everything is compared to them. Tina has assured me she’s great at what she does, with people complimenting her on how little pain she causes, she even waxes pretty much all of her own body herself. Grand job Tina…but we shall see. She started at the top of my thigh, first strip off, it wasn’t to bad….now if you’re a beautician and there is some sort of order that mingeinas should be stripped in, then forgive me, Tina may very well have followed that order but it’s all a painful, breath holding blur to me. Unfortunately I don’t have solid upper thighs, shur listen we can’t all be perfect, and I’m no expert and I feel like Tina isn’t either, cos she is just ripping those wax strips off my inner thighs like annoying wall paper off a wall. I suggest to her that I should hold my thighs taut…lord jayzus, I’m clearly the guru here lads. Maybe it’s the fact that she feels like she shouldn’t be at work today as she’s just started her period and her tum and back are killing her. In fairness if I felt like this and had to come to work do defluff somebody else’s foof, the same thing that’s causing pain in me, then I’d probably give it a going over meself! She then has the cop on to ask me to hold my Mum-tum (why are these so hard to get rid of??) taut and attacks there…a small mercy I suppose.

Now, now…now the fun really gets going…Tina pops her head up and says “oh, I’m sorry, I forgot”. Huh? Yep…she’s only gone and scalped the lot! FFS!! She’s kinda looking at me as if to say, what will I do…she may even have telepathically asked me the question. Shur what the jayzus could she do? Stick it back on? The look I gave her said that, but my mouth betrayed me and said ah, shur what can you do, it’ll be fine! Don’t worry she says, I’ll give you Hollywood at no extra cost. Oh jee…fcuking thanks love, was the look I shot her but my mouth once again betrayed me and said “ah don’t worry I’ll pay for it!” DAM YOU MOUTH!!! I swear to God the non-local place must put some sort of calming, numbing gas in their air con cos I really don’t remember this happening…or maybe this is how the Hollywood goes….I actually really thought she was gonna give me an internal exam at one point and she most certainly burned the barn doors twice…despite me wincing and saying “wow, that’s hot!”. There was a knock on the door then, how long will you be Tina? Ten minutes. Ten minutes!!! Ten FECKING minutes…ah listen T, leave me be, I’ll make like a baby hedgehog suffering alopecia and leave. Thankfully though, after a rather close head-almost-in-my-vajayjay- inspection Tina seems happy enough and starts slathering on cream followed by clouds of talc. Oh thank God for small mercies, I go to get up. I’m not sure how it happend or how she managed it but as she’s saying turn over to me, she’s kinda managed to flip me like a burger onto my tum!! WTF IS GOING ON??? Yeah lads, shur didn’t I forget, I was upgraded to the Hollywood!! FML!

 

I’d just like to add, on later inspection, I’m pretty sure Tina removed skin in places, she IS not from Mecca Minge Defluffers and sadly is unlikely to ever make the grade. On a happier note my hoo ha is feeling alot happier now the whole ordeal is behind it….haa behind it!

The things we do to be fluff free!!

Love Donna x

 

 

Travelling with a demon toddler.

Yay! Summer holiday time (Boo! The ridiculous hike upwards in travel prices). Yay if you get to actually get on a plane and go some where! Boo…actually God love ya if, like me, your child, the beautiful angel traveller you thought you knew turns into a monster.

I can’t start at the beginning because I can’t actually remember our outward journey but by jayzus….the return journey has to be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me whilst travelling. Here we go….

We’re standing in the queue to our already delayed flight, Small Monkey, my Sis and me. There’s some fairly toff-nosed business looking guys behind us and the two cool dudes, my Sis felt were trying to stand on her shoulders in a previous queue ahead of us. Joy of f**king joys lads, this is the beginning of my nightmare. If any of ye know my sis, you’ll know patience is not her strongest point and she wasn’t very impressed with being close to these guys again, Small Monkey is starting to be a butt and they’ve already thrown us a look. Our flight is delayed, Monkey decides he doesn’t want to queue, I don’t blame him, I don’t want to queue either. However wandering off to hang out of a manky rubbish bin is not cool though and, after asking him three times already to come back, I go and drag him back to the queue. He’s not impressed! I’m not bloody impressed either, I now have an unbalanced suitcase leaning on my leg, a gym bag slung over my shoulder, cutting into me and a wiggley worm child hanging out of me. The business guys look on snootily. Monkey is being quite the arse now though to be fair, with shouts like “stop, you’re hurting me” and “letttt meee oooout”. He starts head butting my leg, I’d like to point out here, I dunno where he gets that from. I’ve never head butted anyone except for this one time in third year….I don’t even headbutt hubby when he’s scaling my last nerves! To look at him, you’d think I was skinning him alive. I HATE when he does this to me, it breaks my heart and I feel so cruel, BUT this is an airport and running off to play is not an option. My sister is not impressed now either. I’m not sure if she wants to murder Monkey for being a butt or me for failing to control him. This hurts me too ‘cos I now feel somewhat of a failure but I’m at my wits end. Monkey is now laying on the floor kicking at the Cool Dudes bag! FML!! I know my sister meant well when she started telling him off, but I was cracking under the pressure. The judgey looks from Business Guys, Cool Dudes, the embarrassment that my Sis thinks I’m not firm enough (it’s very hard to be firm with your child in public), the disbelief that my child could do this to me, the heat, the jayzus bags hanging off me…I felt so bad when my reply to her telling him off was “when you have a child and you know what this is like, then you can tell him off, otherwise I’ll deal with him”.

Surprisingly, the further fecking delay to our flight was just the break we all needed. The queue dispersed and we went to sit on the window, where I could now deposit Small Monkey to watch the airplanes. My back was breaking, I was being stubborn, I was now carrying him, who was still tryna get a few headbutts in, the gym bag, which had now indented my shoulder and wheeling the curse-a-god wobbley suitcase. I wanted to cry, I know I was inside.

We’re finally on the plane….guess what? Delayed!!! Sitting on the runway now…thanks for the change of scenery Ryanair. Small Monkey has the window seat, my sister the aisle. In my head I’m singing “butthole child to the left of me, moody sis to right, here I am stuck in the middle, f**k me!”. Monkey is getting fidgety again…he’s playing with the blinds on the windows and wants to get ooooooout!! I do too! Me brain is melting! Woooo! We’re leaving. we’re departing….hail Buddha, Allah and Jesus! I put the seatbelt on fartarse, he’s not impressed but he really kicks up a stink when I tell him the blinds must stay up. By jayzus lads!! I was at the end of my tether, my sis leaned across and told Monkey he was in serious trouble. The rest of the flight was pretty much spent with Monkey crying and SCREAMING to get out, me facing away from my sis and the rest of the plane but dreading looking at my monster child, silently crying. I bribed him with sweets, colouring book and the one thing that would have worked was the f**kity, f**k  f**k ipad thingy (it’s not an actual ipad) which froze literally as Cars started. Things got so bad he eventually got a smack on the hand, which sounded like it echoed all over the plane adding tears of guilt to what already fell.

Thankfully we landed without anybody being murdered or exiting the plane mid Irish Sea. The only thing that made that flight a little better was another passenger telling me, she understood why he was behaving that way and not to worry, it happens. Thank you stranger. xx

You’ve read this far and you think it’s over….so did I lads, so did I. Cue the train journey from hell!! It began with Monkey being a complete bum in the station. This involved more laying and rolling on the floor, planking or flipping backwards violently when I picked him up…more screaming that I was hurting him. It didn’t get any better on the platform….screaming and crying and slapping Mammy. My Sis wasn’t impressed and even started to cry, saying she couldn’t stand seeing him treat me like this. What do you say to that? This made me sad and I felt even more of a d**k parent. The actual train journey didn’t get any better with me having to take him into the little sectioned off 1st class part of the carriage (obvs empty) where we had a little chat involving me taking all a nearly three year olds worldly goods away….eventually he calmed down and apologised to his auntie and me for “shouting & screaming”.

Still I tearfully phoned hubby and told him to meet us at the station with the buggy…and the cattle prod!

Happy travels peeps! xx