As I write this blog post, the rain is pelting down.
Forget cats and dogs, I’m talking elephants and giraffes. Torrential. I am supposed to be at an outdoor concert tonight. That will be interesting …
But let me rewind to drizzly Wednesday; when I got my hair professionally coloured at vast expense. I may need to take out a second mortgage to pay for it. DD will be colouring my hair for the foreseeable future.
It needed the professional touch because it had been home coloured so many times during lockdown that it was a frazzled and faded rainbow of red hues.
I also paid extravagantly for it to be blow-dried – I normally just leave the salon with it wet to save money – because I was heading straight to a whiskey mixing session in the city.
I looked very glamorous and swishy when I raced into a restaurant called The Butcher’s Block for a drink with DD before the mixing session.
I was also quite flustered because I got the address wrong and had blisters from not being used to tramping the city in heels.
DD had a glass of pink bubbles waiting for me. He’s such a keeper.
Then we went to an amazing American- themed restaurant called Nola, which was holding a mix-your-own-whiskey competition. Nola’s bar has the biggest collection of whiskies in the country, including one that goes for $720 a nip!
We were still mixing whiskies at 10.30pm when we wearily decided to pull the plug before the winning blend was announced. There hasn’t been an excited email, so I’m presuming it wasn’t us.
Then yesterday was FORMAL DAY. And it was bloody intense.
There were nails to be painted and hair to be cut and curled and a dress to steam and rain to be battled and tempers to be frayed and traffic to be jammed into.
Back when the youngest was a little tacker she shared a nanny, whose daughter was a hairdresser and whose son was an actor in The Gilmore Girls.
The daughter cut the youngest’s hair from word go, including salvaging it after the eldest cut it all off to feed to their plastic animals as hay, right through until she decided to grow it down to her waist about four years ago.
So, naturally, the youngest wanted to return to Leichhardt for a trim and her formal ‘do. The traffic was freaking insane due to the construction madness that has gridlocked the Anzac Bridge through to Annandale.
The youngest had forgotten that the son of the nanny was in The Gilmore Girls, so was quite perturbed to see photos of him all through the house. The youngest, as you may recall, has watched every season of The Gilmore Girls 10 times over. But she kept her cool.
I told her I could probably get her an introduction next time he’s in town, but she reckons that would be “so awkward”.
The curls had to be left tight due to the humidity, with the hope they’d relax into beach waves by 6.30pm. When they were finally done, we frantically drove home to get dressed and go to pre-formal drinks. Well, the parents drank, the girls were too busy taking a gazillion selfies of each other. The youngest was the most scantily clad of the bunch and looked quite terrifyingly grown up, despite not wearing a scrap of make-up, aside from a swipe of mascara.
Please forgive me for the amount of my child’s flesh I’m about to show you … my mum was faintly horrified when I sent her a preview of the dress and wanted to know where the rest of it was …
And then there’s me beside her, all creased and faded and old.
Because it was so torrential and humid, everyone’s very expensive curls had completely dropped out by the time they headed into town. Damn!
I tottered home, made sausages and mash for the eldest and I, then raced to the local pub to be the paparazzi for a contact who is running for local council.
And then, because I was deliriously tired, I started regaling them with the tale of being a judge at Miss Nude Australia.
Always a winner, particularly with the blokes.
It was supposed to be a team meeting about the campaign, but it ended up being mostly me blathering about giving women marks out of 10 for how well they poured jugs of milk over their augmented breasts.
Just for something completely different.
And now it’s Friday and I am about to be slammed all over again with work before becoming a drowned rat.
Better get cracking.
Have a good weekend. Try not to get too drenched.
Song of the day: Neil Diamond “Girl, you’ll be a woman soon”