For those of you who know me you all know I love France. I travel there, usually to Paris every year. I love that they love their food and have created the most amazing cheese in the world. Wine, they drink wine every day, they are in a sentence indulgent and simply elegant.
I could talk about their love of art and fashion but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I’m envious of the French, their simple elegance and the fact is they can eat as much as they like and not gain weight. Which is something I find particularly bloody annoying.
Why am I talking about the French. Well I’ll you why, I recently encountered a young French woman in a hairdresser salon.
So picture this I show up in my converse, jeans rolled up over my ankles, I’d read somewhere that this was fashionable, turns out not on 50 something women, a white shirt that was stretched over my ever-expanding boobs. The buttons straining to keep everything intact.
Out she floated, I sware she floated, in a black long sleeve tee-shirt, a pair of black skinny trousers (she hadn’t rolled them up) and flat red shoes. She looked amazing, elegance oozed from every pore. How, I don’t understand how. If I’d showed up anywhere wearing that people would ask if I’d been to a funeral.
‘You are here for ze makeup’ read her part in a French accent
‘Ahh.. no.. just a wash and blow dry’ sez I
‘But you can have both’ French accent
‘Ahh.. I’ll think about it’ sez I knowing full well I wasn’t going to.
Besides I was sure I’d end up looking like a middle-aged transvestite. It happened before a few years ago got all gleamed up even had a sparkly frock. Caught sight of myself and I swear to God I resembled a short slightly round aging transvestite.
‘But it will enhance your beauty’ French accent
For feck sack ‘beauty’ what was she on about. At fifty something I was simply a rounder, hairier and heavier awl wan than I was thirty years ago.
‘All womens are beautiful’ French accent
This was not true, I’ve met women who are, as my grandmother used to say ‘Plain, god love them’
‘Look you are young and beautiful at this point I just doing maintenance’
This confused the poor young wan altogether, she did that beautiful head tilting that only the French can do, mind you she did have a confused expression.
‘No.. No we will enhance your beauty’ French accent.
‘I just came for a blow dry’ sez I wishing she’d just feck off with herself.
She didn’t, she even offered to do it free of charge. Now this could mean one of two things, I’m very sad and pale looking so she feels sorry for me or she needs the practice on some awl wans. I was going with the latter.
I am one of those women who buy make up and the like in Boots, I usually see what’s on offer and that dictates my ‘beauty routine’.
My make up doesn’t last very long, those hot flushes and sweats encourage my make up to run down my face and neck and settle into my cleavage. When most women get to the end of the evening and do their cleansing routine they clean their faces, oh not me, my cleansing routine centres around my neck and cleavage.
My younger sister has recently introduced me to something called ‘Primer’ it’s like an undercoat for your make up, it sorta fills in all the lines and makes your face look a bit smoother than it actually is, it bloody works. My makeup now stays where I put it, on my face. On the flip side when I look down now my poor boobs look decidedly pale.
I have not idea how hairdressers make your hair look so shiny and bouncy but they do, it’s something I simply can’t accomplish on my own. I always watch them but I can never replicate what they do.
So there I sat with my bouncy hair waiting for my new French friend to arrive to ‘enhance my beauty’. What class of an eejit was I to agree to this, but shur lookit I could wash it off when I got home, no harm done.
She stood between me and the mirror as she examined my poor face.
‘We need do something with your eye browns’ French accent
‘My eye browns?’
‘Qui your eye browns are grey’ French accent
‘My eye browns are grey’ this was news to me. So I took out my reading glasses and low and behold she was right. My eye browns were grey.
She once again stood between me and the mirror and worked away, she massaged my face with something cool and soothing. She worked away on my eye browns and blended colours on my eyelids. Finally she applied lipstick with a little brush, I’ve never done that and thought it was a bit silly and giggled as she struggled to ‘out line my lips’
She stood back and did that big revel thing that they do on the telly, the only thing was I didn’t have a before picture. But there I was in all my glory. I hardly recognised myself. My eye browns were now ‘eye browns’ beautiful and neat. There were no bags under my eyes.. Oh dear god I looked like I did years ago, but with bouncy hair.
‘You look like a beautiful French Woman’ French accent
‘Ah go on would ya’ I couldn’t believe the transformation.
Now I just need to figure out where she got those trousers and shoes.
The Joy of the French