Sometimes I suspect that I’m just a bit rubbish at being a girl.
Earlier in the week I went for a facial. Now, I’m saying that like it’s something I do all the time but, because of the lack of basic girl skills I’ve actually only had one a couple of times ever. My problem is not with the facial itself, mask that makes you feel like you’re trapped under a rock, squeezing and tutting, hot, cold, hot, all fine. My problem is that when you come out, all pink and shiny and blotchy (but knowing you’re going to look fabulous the next day, right?) with hair like a crazy lady with little bits of face pack nestled in it (I know, it’s an unbelievably beautiful picture I’m painting here for you), when you come out in this state and head home why do you then bump in to everybody you have ever met ever? And why does everyone you see fancy a chat?
Paper bag? Balaclava? Private chauffeur?
Told you, rubbish.