You may think I meant to say that I give as good as I get, but you would be wrong: what I really mean is that, at this very moment, I’m as good as I can get… considering certain facts, like being of a particular age, having no make-up on, losing my tan, wearing tired clothes and still needing to diet. Perhaps you are thinking now, “As good as she can get – what a braggart!” Incidentally, Brad Pitt (my hero) said, “Where I come from we don’t talk about what we do – we just do it. If we talk about it, it’s seen as bragging.” Therefore, I had better explain…
Brad tweeted also, “Before you go and criticize others, make sure you take a good look in the mirror first.” Well, I can honestly say I had no idea of criticizing anybody this morning when I looked in the mirror, least of all myself; nevertheless, I made observations, some of which I do not intend to brag about. What struck me most was how dark and drab my hair looked; my last haircut had done away with nearly all of the evidence of my time in Australia earlier this year followed by a sunny English summer and I suddenly felt the time had come to resort to streaking (no, not running around naked – I did that the other morning!).
Have you ever bought a home-streaking kit? If you have, you will know that the look of natural fair highlights is achieved by wearing a cute little plastic cap (something like the bed cap worn by Red Riding Hood’s grandma, except made of see through plastic) and, using a crochet hook, pulling strands of hair through the tiny holes that you have already pierced in the cap.
Chris very kindly agreed to help me, otherwise the streaks would not look natural because they would be just around my face and not at the back where I can’t see or reach. After twenty minutes of hunting around the house for another crochet hook (I do the ones at the front to reduce the time of the laborious task) I sat down at the kitchen table and put on the plastic cap and my glasses; I looked in the mirror and laughed – I looked bald! Luckily, Chris didn’t see me from that unflattering, full-on in the magnified side of the mirror pose – he stood behind me and looked down on my bald pate instead.
“Remember to come in at an angle,” I urged, remembering other occasions.
“I’ve done it before,” he answered tetchily.
Chris penetrated the first hole from a ninety degree angle, rather than the forty-five degree angle I was hoping for, and he pulled a strand, consisting of two longs hairs, from the very top of my head; the strand had been battened down by the snugly fitting plastic cap and was unwilling to give in to the relentless pulling of the hook. “No pain, no gain,” I thought (did Brad say that too?) and I bore the agony without even a whimper as the thin strand made its arrival into the open world. Only another fifty or more to go! The second attempt was better – thicker but shorter and nearer the surface – almost no pain. The third was sharp and quick.
“Ouch!” I cried out.
“What’s the matter?”
“Can’t you be more sensitive?”
“Anyone would think I haven’t done this before!” Chris said. (He’s always been a bit ham-fisted.)
“No pain, no gain,” I told myself over and over. I tried to stifle my cries, sometimes successfully, other times unsuccessfully… At one point, after a lunge of the hook at a horizontal angle (thus arriving at, and pulling the hair from an unintended location), I screamed and jumped at the same time; Chris was so taken aback that he jumped too. Through the mirror I could see from the look on his face that he wanted to throw down the hook and walk out; I nearly told him to throw down the hook and walk out, but I didn’t and he didn’t – we’re stoical like that (hope that isn’t bragging).
Truthfully, it did not get any better, in fact it got worse. You see, the more strands of hair there are poking through the holes, the more likely it is that when the hook goes in again it will pull out the clumps from other holes – one comes up and another disappears, like magic. Chris found it quite entertaining whilst I found it agonizing. Chris pulled, I screamed, and he jumped. Occasionally, knots were dragged to the surface, thought better of, and left in a matted mass by the hole. And so it went on until we were satisfied that enough hair protruded on the outside of the cap.
At length it was done and I appeared to be practically bald but with funny limp strands of hair sprouting at odd angles. If you happened to see “Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves” starring Kevin Costner, well, I looked like the ancient oracle played by Geraldine McEwan!
So now, some time later, with my streaked hair in long golden curls reminiscent of sunshine, I feel less dreary and wintry; this is as good as I get, considering all the other factors I mentioned earlier. That isn’t bragging – is it?
By the way, isn’t it funny how the words, dilapidation and depilation are so similar?