beauty

Preparing for the future

Image I’ve decided that being an adult sucks.

Along with having to make my own breakfast, lunch and dinner, pay bills, spend hours on the phone organising 5000 types of insurance and sorting alarms to ensure I get to work (that’s another one) on time, I now have to worry about my face.

In the past couple of months I’ve gone from feeling like my face was perfect-ly fine to finding a wrinkle every other day.

What the hell.

I’m 27, surely I do not need anti-ageing cream yet, surely.

Well, according to cosmetic surgeons it’s simply unfathomable I haven’t started the prep yet, or even thought about it. I’ve been offered botox, for free, three times now. THREE TIMES. Gees, I know when to take a hint.

Call me crazy but I’m pretty sure I’m not in desperate need of having a hundred needles jabbed into my face. Anti-ageing cream on the other hand, is looking a little more appealing.

So, two weeks ago a girlfriend and I set out on a hunt to find a miracle cream, one to rid us of our big black eye bags and weary wrinkles. And, we were spoilt for choice.

Aesop proved to be a clear favourite, mainly because the shop smelt nice and the man serving was divine to say the least. After sampling all the testers we came across the eye cream. Now while I was looking for anti-ageing cream, the whole looking-like-you’ve-been-smacked-in-both-eyes situation, isn’t ideal, but the discovery of their eye cream was really something else.

We dipped our fingers in and smothered that creamy goodness around our eyes, making note at the time that yes, it was definitely working, we could feel it already. Then we looked at the price. It was $305 people, $305!! The whole container was the size of a pack of tampons for crying out loud.

Safe to say we left the shop, sad and disappointed but with amazing-feeling eyes.

Two hours passed and the shopping trip came to a close. We made our way to the car, handbags filled with samples, and conversing about how nice our eyes felt. Once in the car I pulled down the visor to look at my eyes in the mirror and I am not even kidding when I tell you I looked like a supermodel. There was not a black bag in sight. I turned to my girlfriend and she literally gasped. It was at that exact moment we attempted to come up with possible ways to get our hands on this cream, without having to hand over a week’s salary.

It was a solid 25 minutes of trying to work out whether or not our husbands would find out, and then convincing them it was all for them anyway and did they want a hot wife or one with bags and wrinkles?

So peeps, any recommendations of life-changing eye creams or anti-ageing serums that won’t smash my bank?

Women: The strangest of creatures

Image
Exactly how I look when I wake up

 

I’m over it. I’m over being a woman.

I’ve always thought it would be better to be a man and I feel the past couple of days have really cemented this thought.

I think it comes down to the maintenance. It would be sweet if I just woke up and looked incredible, maybe like Mila Kunis (just throwing it out there), chucked on some clothes and went on my merry way but unfortunately, that’s not life.

What is life is shaving, ex-foliating, moisturising, make up, hair, nails, waxing, shoes, clothes, accessories – it’s too much. I want to go on strike.

Do you know how long, expensive and time consuming it is to be a woman? I seriously have to wonder how much time we waste doing weird woman things when we could be outside having a beer.

And it’s worse when we have an event.

I’m off back to the motherland in two days and the prep I have ahead of me is just plain daunting.

I’ve had to work backwards from the day of departure to figure out when I need to wash my hair and shave my legs, so that I’ve timed it just right. I’ve had my hair done (there goes five hours of my life I’ll never get back) and been waxed within an inch of my life. I’ve had to sort out what clothes to take, complete with accessories and different types of underwear depending on what pants/skirt/dresses I decide on, and I still have to paint my nails, pack, possibly fake tan the old pins once they’ve been shaved,and decide on whether it’s a heels or boots kinda trip.

Mr Knees on the other hand has just put a load of washing on and will pull out a bag on Thursday afternoon pop in some jeans, four t-shirts and a jacket and away he goes. 

WHAT THE HELL. Now I’m even more mad. And, he’s just had the audacity to come in here and say ‘did you not even hang my washing out for me?’ Ahhh Mr Knees, if I was you, I’d be walking real quick out of my vicinity because if I can reach you I WILL GET YOU.

See, and we’re moody, like super moody. The funniest part is when we know we’re being irrational but there’s not a single thing we can do to control it, we just have to ride the wave and let it be.

So I’m thinking about becoming a man. Not like forever, but just maybe for a week. Imagine a week of no make up, no nails, no hair washing, and all the other glorious things I have failed to mention, oooooh peeing ANYWHERE, brilliant.

Now I just have to convince Mr Knees it’s totally fine if he sleeps with a man for a week.