Wednesday, 15 December 2010

Lurching...From One Disaster to Another!

A very dear friend said to me yesterday; for every down, there has to be an up. So if life is rough, it must become smoother: up and down, down and up. I was very polite, and managed not to laugh. ‘Oh yeah?’ I wanted to say. ‘Not my life.’

Now ‘Tales’ knows lots of other people have dreadful things to deal with, but here’s how the week looks so far, and its only Wednesday.

My locks didn’t turn ‘glossy light brown’ as promised by the box and its luscious little sample panel. I’ve managed to dyed my hair brunette, which, as a whey-faced pale-ling, is not a flattering look. Will I ever learn that age-old lesson? - after administering contents of small, smelly bottle, do not watch telly and forget the time. So much for looking foxy for Christmas. Still, at least it’s not as bad as the time I turned my hair ‘radioactive orange’. That was so awful, the hairdresser, to whom I turned for rescue, screeched and cackled when I took off my hat. You’d have thought she’d at least have tried to keep a straight face.

But worse, far worse than having to be stared at outside school for the crime of having horrible hair was the discovery, after the children had arrived home from ‘chez papa’, youngest son had something mightily unpleasant in his schoolbag. Excruciatingly unpleasant, I might add. Imagine my mortification upon discovering some of my underwear had fallen out of the washing basket and into his schoolbag. (they leave their bags in the kitchen beside the washing machine) It has been transported backwards and forwards to school for nearly a whole week. Oh well, I consoled myself, at least if it’s still in his schoolbag, it means their papa hasn’t realised what I’ve done.

“Oh no,” elder son chimed. “Daddy knows. The teacher came out to tell him.”

Cue one angry text demanding to know why offending items are still in boy’s bag.

“Oh sorry,” came the response. “The teacher did say, but I forgot.”

Forgot? How is that possible? Wouldn’t you think one’s x-husband would be kind enough to remove the items and spare the mother-of-his-children’s blushes?
I faced the teacher yesterday with a face glowing as bright as Rudolph’s fabled nose, and mumbled apologies. Luckily she found it funny, but I’m cringing and going a funny red colour again just thinking about it.

But it’s okay, I tell myself. Because, according to my friend, when things are bad, they have to get better.

How I wish it was true. I wished very hard this morning, whilst trying to console the smaller child. He was howling, literally, when I tried to leave him at school, because he doesn’t want to take part in the nativity play this afternoon. He’d played a firm hand in the ‘I’m too ill for school’ stakes, but was ultimately trumped by my stronger ‘I know you’re faking’ card. But ‘Tales’ knows that by the time he gets home, he will have made himself ill through the strength of his tantrum. And we’ll have to endure the same ordeal tomorrow for the second performance…

It has to get better. It has to get smoother. I’d like to say it can’t get any rougher, but that would be issuing my luck an open invitation to do its worst!

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thank you for dropping by, and please, feel free to tell me what you think...

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...