Tag Archives: bad hair day

Honker Honker #scrub


To the gentleman who so sweetly honked at me and screamed, “nice arse,” as I walked to the shops today,


Firstly I’d like to say thank you for taking time out from your busy schedule to compliment me. You no doubt were in a rush to chug some VB cans followed by crushing them on your forehead so did not have time to stop and speak to me in a more lengthy manner. I am just sure from the brief insight I got into your vocab that we would be the firmest of friends. I am of course flattered that you did look upon my visage and find it both pleasing and provocative. I do have a fantastic rump and it is always lovely to have a compliment applied directly to my rear. I certainly had gone to the extra effort of pulling my unbrushed hair up into a mum-bun, so it was nice that it didn’t go unnoticed. And right back at you, your shaved head with a rats tail is a visual treat that I don’t oft get since I moved to the city. It did make me sick for my childhood home in the country. Ah memories, thanks so much for that.

Secondly, it would be a lie if I said I didn’t feel that deep personal connection, that drove you to honk at me, too. Gosh, before I even turned to hear your dulcet tone float from your mouth unto my happy ears I could feel your presence. The thrumm of your engine filled myself, and no doubt the whole street, with excitement. Why my flesh was covered with goose bumps and the hairs on the back of my neck did  stand on attention before you even honked. I felt it too. There is a bond between you and I. My panties nearly ran screaming from my body with your first toot, and then on your second, well I’m surprised they didn’t simply errupt into flames.

Thirdly, I hope you don’t think me rude for not responding to your compliment. You unfortunately drove off so quickly, and with such a loud screech of burning rubber, that I could not respond at the time.


You were to quick for my frail girly brain to respond. I must admit that the loud screech did scatter my silly brain because my fragile lady nerves were in tatters. Afterwards I did of course consider giving chase to your vehicle so I could tell you about all the feelings burning inside me, but it would not become a lady to chase men on the streets, despite this being true love and all. Plus, I had to buy tampons.

Which leads me to fourthly. Alas, our love is not to be. Unfortunately I’m married with three kids. Hush, don’t apologise. How were you to know that your soul mate had already taken another lover and bore his children? I had left hastily after washing up bottles and had thoughtlessly left my wedding ring on the kitchen bench. There is no way you could have known another man had already stamped his ownership upon me. And obviously it’s my own damned impatient fault for not waiting for you to drive into my life. Damn me and my wandering eye. I should have waited. But again, my silly girl brain could think of nothing else but having babies after I turned thirty. So please, forgive me, but we can never be. If I were but single I’m ardently sure that it would be on like Donkey Kong, but alas, I am not. We must resist our urges and maintain a distance. Don’t honk me again because I do not know if I could resist your seductive charms a second time. My children need me, please don’t tear my family apart.


Farewell forever

Your soul mate



I paid for and awful hair cut with terrible styling and it matters.


This morning I was so excited because I finally got a me day. I was going to go get a hair cut and feel fabulous. Last time I did this was my birthday, the time before mothers day. I was really looking forward to it. You see, with a four year old and almost two year old twins I rarely get time to myself. Add to that my husband works really long hours, plus once a week has a regular activity of his own and on top of that many an unkind person likes to tell me how I need to give him more time and how I need to do more for him despite the fact he has a minimum of the one activity a week to himself and I, if I’m really lucky, get to go to the gym for an hour and a half a week, but often it gets thrown aside because of something of his, I don’t get much time and I often get the reverse of support. And after spending time away with my husband’s family I was even more excited to get time to myself. To do something nice for myself, to not be judged or exhausted, or pressed upon. I was super excited to get a few hours for me and to get a hair cut and colour…

… but the hair cut was shit, the hair dye was left on my head  (extensive parts of my head) and my instructions were ignored. Dark brown please, just a trim please, please don’t blow dry my hair because I really like my curls these days and would like to have my naturally curly hair please.

I got chestnut brown hair, much shorter hair, and they straightened it. Not a good straightening job either. A messy, boxy, hideous, job.

People say, oh it’ll grow out, oh you xan wash it and the curls will be back BUT I SHOULDN’T FUCKING HAVE TO! I managed to finally get some time to myself after some incredible stressful moments, I pretty much had to escape in the spot to make it happen before yet another excuse was given as to why I didn’t deserve a break and why I shouldn’t need one and why my husband should get even more yet again. I managed to get a moment away from being eroded, I just wanted to feel good, but instead I have left feeling even worse. Because I don’t have much money. I have zero income, my husband doesn’t share a bank account with me, so managing to get $110 squirreled away for a haircut was a big deal. A really big fucking deal. And because of this insane bias that straight hair is somehow superior to curly I’m expected to be happy with a truly awful straightening job because it supposedly better than my naturally curly hair. I’m supposed to smile and pay $110 to have my very rare and very precious me time violated. I’m supposed to say it’s no big deal. I’m supposed to not over react.


And anybody else in my situation will understand that. And to those people I say, “I’m so sorry, you’re worth so much more, and you deserve so much more.”


The offending styling