The spring is sprung – or why I am not a glamazon

Today the sun is cracking the flags again. I have successfully negotiated two pieces of DIY and the advent of dinner out at Sleepy’s has caused me to see if I can achieve a similar transformation with my own body that I managed with the bathroom door and the patio…

Such optimism inevitably leads to some re-learning that I am not one of life’s natural glamazons. The face mask makes me look like something out of Halloween and although the legs have been done, the texture of them (i.e. big white and flabby) does not lead me to gasp in admiration.

Fortunately this learning came before I was inexorably drawn to doing Chanel feet.

A kind friend sent me this nail polish (the one Irma Thurman wore in Pulp Fiction) and whilst it is the most glamorous thing on the plant it is murderous to get on and off. It requires utter perfection of nails, of application with absolutely no mistakes. These are costly and end up with nails that look like they’ve spent too long doing interesting things with liver.

So I opted for Rimmel instead and the realisation that I am not one of life’s natural glamazons. I am that woman who just about gets away with what ever she gets away with and is thankful for that. How the true glamazons do it is something I would like to observe before I die but it looks like a lot more work than painting doors.