Cutting a dash


Humph. The Esther Williams experiment has already suffered a setback, thanks to a haircut that makes me look like Christopher Robin. Or possibly Peter Tork from The Monkees.

Setback number two arrived with the bathing suit. I didn’t look like the girl in the pic. Why does this still worry me? I know how they choose and mark up images. This means I know, for a fact, that there must have been loads of shots that didn’t make the grade. Shots in which she looked normal. Which is to say: a salmagundi of good bits and less good bits that she probably wouldn’t feature on her Christmas cards.

So having convinced myself that I look like a pig in a hammock, I left it for a couple of days. Expectations duly dialled down, I gave it another go last night and thought that actually I quite like it. This is one time when you’re actually supposed to have a big bottom.

The haircut is another matter entirely. It’s so wrong with the swimsuit I look like a game of consequences. Still, I am philosophical – it’ll grow, and it’s ages until June. Oh, and I know it’s not a great haircut. Never mind that no-one has complimented it – no-one’s even mentioning that it happened. Bad sign.

Being philosophical has been put through its paces of late. Sunday I arrived at the airport after a few lovely days in Dublin. Clocks went forward, ja? I’d forgotten and spent some time locked in cross-purposes chat with an unsmiling bloke wearing a clipboard like it was a stab vest. Conclusion: one missed flight, 75 euro charge. Still, I wasn’t too horribly late. For some reason, if I’d confessed my idiocy AFTER the scheduled take-off time the cost would have risen to an-arm-and-a-leg. As it was, we were still in ‘Missed Check-in’ sweet spot, not the ‘Whoa! Well late, pisshead’ slough of despond. If that had occurred, the woman at the desk – whither I had been dispatched by Unsmiling ListBoy – chummily confided that I would have had to buy an entirely new ticket, ‘which *tap tap tap* would have cost you *tap tap tap* 287 euro at this stage.’ At which point I laughed and coughed up fast.

So yeah, I’m feeling philosophical. I’ve never missed a flight before, and never missed the clock change. And what is life for, if not for exciting new experiences?


One Response to “Cutting a dash”

  1. 1 Damp squib « Vanessa Harriss's Blog

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