Will I survive the hormonal silly season?
I highly doubt that I will come through it in one piece, especially after yesterday’s trip to the mall.
What. Was. I. Thinking! Each year I vow to be ready, I make a pact with myself to get all the shopping done well in advance, in fact this year I was a bit smug about it, which I shouldn’t have been, because it never happened!
So, as I ventured into mall hell. I was slightly excited by the fact I got a carpark in my favourite spot. While everyone else was trawling the carpark, I snuck into my spot feeling very chuffed with myself.
It’s a sign I thought, a good one. With a skip in my step I headed towards the mall doors. OMFG! Firstly, I was nearly knocked over by an overexcited three-year-old, quickly followed by her poor harassed mum, who looked like she’d done a few rounds with Mike Tyson.
Up the escalators I went, the women in front of me didn’t move quick enough, so we had one of those escalator stampedes. Very awkward.
My day wasn’t getting off on such a good start after all. As I headed to the loo, busting and with a bladder that isn’t up to much, I ran into a queue that was out of the toilet and around the corner. I wasn’t sure what to do, I jiggled up and down crossed my legs and hoped for the best. One lady at the front took pity on me, I rushed in, thanked her profusely and tried to explain my midlife bladder. She looked at me like I had two heads! I probably didn’t need to explain myself. A tad embarrassing.
I haven’t even got to the supermarket bit yet. Why the fu*k didn’t I order on line? I know why, we are going away to Rarotonga, so didn’t think it was worth stocking up on much. So, I thought I’d quickly rush in to the mall and get a few supplies. Mistake number 500 for the day.
I’m starting to sweat, there’s a fight over the cherries, and some man is actually fingering them now, squeezing, smelling… WHY! There go the cherries, I’ll get strawberries instead.
I’m after some nail polish, that turns into a nightmare. I’m standing at the OPI counter looking at all the colours, which there must be hundreds. I’m basically in a trance. I young girl comes up to me and thinks bright green would look good… need I say more. I’m hormonal, stressed, sweating (or is that just a bloody hot flush) and my decision-making skills are not the best. fu*k….. after an hour, a grab a colour, it’s called ‘half past nude’. It will do and it’s not green. I also get sucked into the pre- and post- nail polish shine stuff, and a buffer, and a hand cream (I should have just gone to the bloody salon and got them done).
I then head into Mecca in the mall to get a tinted moisturiser. I found a fabulous one from Terry (only cost a million dollars – not really, but nearly). The lovely girl pulls me towards her counter and tries some on me. It looks good, I’ve got a nice colour and glow going on (that glow may be due to the hot flush) but I’m taking it. As I’m admiring myself in the mirror, I hear “Oh, that pimple looks sore”. Great, absolutely great. Now she mentions it, it’s bloody throbbing. I need a drink.
Will I survive the silly season? After a wine, or 500, I probably will.
So, by the time you are reading this I’ll be with family in Rarotonga, beach side, barefoot, make-up free, no phones, TV or anything digital and the screams of toddlers having tantrums, mums bumping into me, men fingering cherries, my mammoth pimple, peeing myself and massive hot flushes will be a distant memory.
I may just survive after all.
I hope you have a wonderful silly season. X