I need a holiday and a good friend once said that a trip to the hairdresser or the spa was as good as. My bank account sadly lacks the wherewithal for a holiday, a hair appointment or the spa. These days I have to contend with school fees, doctor’s bills and builders. All of which take their toll on the old piggy bank.
Last weekend I tried the home hair treatment. I thought that I find out if blondes have more fun. Fortunately, or not as the case may be, it didn’t work. My hair is several shades lighter but still determinedly not really brown and not really red but certainly not blonde. And it didn’t feel like a holiday at all, unless it was somewhere very smelly.
This weekend I decided the home spa experience might be worth a try. I usually regard these with my usual cynicism, after all if it were that easy, why does it cost a arm and a leg for some fancy French stuff at the spa. They must know something I don’t. Right? These days I’m not so sure.
In a last minute rush to buy the Father’s Day gift Small boy aged 9 had set his heart on, I wandered about Melrose Arch and into some very expensive smelly shop promising me skin 10 years younger. I was duly shown through a phalanx of creams and serums and miracle ingredients all of which contained essential oils, Rooibos and honey. Well I’ve got those at home don’t I? I managed to extricate myself without having to swipe the beleaguered card and went home to Google.
A few hours later I have just enjoyed a deep bubble bath and a moisturizing face mask courtesy of me. One squishy avocado and half a cup of honey and ten minutes later skin like a baby’s bottom. Actually that is a terrible metaphor. I’ve had babies. They get nappy rash on their bottoms. So, scratch that. Skin like I’ve sat through an hour of snooty spa posturing and a wallet not screaming in agony from the price of the treatment plus whatever ooze I’ve been terrified into buying by some white coated zombie.
All in all it was a success. My children think I am insane. My husband was banned from the bathroom due his inability to stop gurgling hysterically with laughter and inappropriate suggestions about miracle ingredients. But, I don’t feel like some ancient old crone about to hit middle age. When your birthday is fast approaching it is surprising what you’ll do to delay it.