The deadliest, jelliest site ever. Brought to you by Niamh Shaw

Operation Beautification commenced the week before Husband’s triumphant return. General follicle extermination, eyebrow plucking and trimming,  intense moisturising, deep conditioning, teeth straightening, moustache waxing.

However, he highlight of the entire campaign was The Hairdo. I have been growing my hair for what feels like several millenia. One of the reasons for this – apart from how long it takes hair to grow – I mean, what is WITH that? – is that hairdressers seem to treat an instruction to trim the ends within a tolerance of half a centimetre like some sort of dare.

Since I did not trust a hairdresser near my voluminous tresses, the long and not-so-short of it is that I had not had a haircut for a good six months.

Mother-In-Law’s hairdresser, Kris, was fully booked and getting married the same day Husband arrived.

“Well, I appreciate that, but this is an emergency,” said Mother-In-Law. Indeed, when she explained the extent of my hairiness including inadvertent cranial topiary, Kris bumped some local celeb to fit me in on Tuesday afternoon.

Bless her, Kris did an awesome job. She thinned it at the ends as per the photo I provided, and funked it up around my face. Now I look like this except without the highlights and self-satisfied pout:-

0904-hair

The day before Husband flew into Christchurch, I decided to test the gorgeousness. Hair straighteners being a relatively new technology for me, it took me half a day to blow-dry and straighten my hair.

Being a responsible dog owner, I still rolled up my jeans and took Jed for his half hour walk across the fields before going into Oamaru to do some work.

Note the walk.

It is relevant.

Because as I sashayed up Oamaru’s main drag tossing my hair around and feeling totally foxy, I attracted a more than fair share of attention. ‘By chuff!’ I thought, ‘you may be skidding towards middle age, but obviously you can still work it BABY!’

Around this stage, I even adopted a self-satisfied pout.

Then I noticed a passerby staring intently in the region of my lower leg, which was when I realised one leg of my jeans was still rolled up to the knee

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Comments on: "Operation Beautification" (4)

  1. solartap said:

    Me no understand.
    Why was your jeans leg rolled up to your knee?

    Had you been drinking…….. again?

    x

  2. deadlyjelly said:

    NO!

    The walk to the creek is across knee-high (occasionally neck-high) grass, so I have to roll my trousers up. Afterwards, I only unrolled one jean leg for some reason – must have been distracted by my mother-in-law.

    I have amended the post to clarify the situation. Hope it helps.

    x

  3. So the passer-by was ogling your shapely, exposed leg. Who can blame him? (Or her, of course. As the case may be.)

  4. deadlyjelly said:

    Well, I WOULDN’T, except that this was before my legs were sheared.

    x

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