Let me clarify;
I am not one of those girls…
I do not wake in the morning to bluebirds peeling back my sheets. I do not run fingers through the tangled mess on my hand and then watch it fall perfectly onto my shoulders. I do not apply a dash of gloss and blush and look ready for the day and I don’t bite my lip and set men off orgasming around me.
I am normal.
I look like crap when I wake, the first thing I see is mascara on the pillow. If my hair isn’t viciously straightened within an inch of its life I look like a white woman with an afro. I gain weight by looking at food and have to run marathons to shift it. Making men orgasm is hard work and quite frankly tiresome in day to day life. I bite my lip when stressed and leave a bruise which is in no way alluring.
But sometimes I like to make an effort.
Take recently, I went to a corporate event with clients. Not only was the affair a little well to do but it was also a full day out; with free flowing champagne…
So I washed and dried, tweezed and shaved, cleansed, toned and moisturised. By the time I left the bathroom I was shining like a freshly scrubbed golden coin.
The day was marvellous, the sun shone, the champagne was heavenly and I tasted quail egg for the first time. I made grown up conversation and in general had a ball.
Then halfway through my chocolate delight pudding I was faced with a horrifying moment.
My client, with whom I had just been debating the great recession, leaned over and gently used her finger and thumb to grasp a hair on my chest.
“Oh you have a hair, it’s not yours its dark.” She said preparing to pull.
“Oh shit” I declared in my head.
As I said I am not that type of girl; if there is a hair on my chest of any colour there is always a strong chance that it could be mine and it is probably attached. I start tweezing my eyebrows from my chin and it wouldn’t surprise me if the bastards had started growing lower.
I watched in abject horror as she started to pull. I held my breath waiting for the moment when I would feel the tug on my chest.
“Gosh it’s long” she commented with a touch of excitement in her tone.
That caught the attention of the whole table who then all turned their gaze on me and my Rapunzel style chest hair.
She kept pulling…
I refused to exhale.
The hair left my chest zone.
I sighed with relief…
It was one of Twin Girls….