It’s the holy trinity of my last couple of weeks. In the absence of anything to rant about, I’m going to give you a rundown on what’s been happening since I last updated. Because the world needs more people talking about themselves, clearly.
I had my hair cut. Fascinating I know, but any woman who has tried to get a decent cut in Abu Dhabi will tell you that going to a salon is like playing russian roulette, only the chamber is FULL of bullets, and each one is a terrible haircut. Each one is also rude, dramatic, and achingly hip. So I fired a gun full of trend-setting, wanker-y bullets at my head, and came out looking like an extra from a Wilson Phillips video. Or a member of Martha Stewart’s militia (she’s got one you know, I swear that’s what she was doing when she was in the pokey, training the other inmates up to get all ‘festive decorating’ on our asses. Ever been stabbed with a sharpened xmas cookie? You just wait……..).
The best bit of the salon experience was right at the start of the appointment. After being sent off to have my hair washed I was plonked down in the stylist’s chair, and asked a couple of questions about what I wanted. I could have just quacked like a duck for 2 minutes, because I’m fairly sure none of the information made it in to Mr Cool’s head. Probably too full of ‘product’ and funny internet cat pictures. The stylist, bless him, puffed out his chest and bellowed ‘BRING ME MY BLADE’. Oh god, was my cut that bad that he was going to need to hack my whole head off???? Perhaps this was some kind of hipster cult and I’d unwittingly become their next uncool sacrifice. I’ll admit I giggled. And then I got a truly shitty haircut.
The day after my haircut tragedy, I went shooting. It’s totally unrelated to the cut, I promise, but I wonder if I would have had a better weekend if I’d combined the activities. Shooting is fun! I was fair shitting myself for the first few shots, but after a while I felt strangely calm. I was shooting a Glock 9mm, and it was adorable, in a way that only guns can be. Fatally adorable? Flesh-woundingly adorable? It was pretty hot anyway. My first shot was amazing. If you look at the photo below, the one closest to the bullseye was my first shot. Go me!
After that shot, as is glaringly obviously from the photo, things got less accurate. The more the instructor dude told me what to do, the worse I got. ’Lean forward madam, relax, lean forward’. Shut up man! Every time I was just about to take a shot, he talked. Way to distract the chick with the gun. I will be going back there though, unlike the hair-murderer, because it was therapeutic to shoot at a piece of paper and wear daft safety glasses. Chicken soup for the soul, that.
And now we get to the vomit. It’s a short story, and I won’t linger on it, but I think I should get it out there on the internet so I can embarrass my daughter about it in a few years time. Yes, that’s right, she spewed on me. 5.30am rolls around and obviously I’m asleep. My also sleeping daughter is nestled snugly in the crook of my arm, in what would have been a heartwarming photo had there been a weird ‘sleeping people’ photo stalker around. This bunnies-and-rainbows scene was shattered in an up-chucky instant. Angelicly dozing child had half woken and hurled down my arm. Woot. She stumbled out of bed, narrowly avoiding decorating my uni work with spew. ’To the bin!’ I cried. So off she went and hurled in the bin. Then she went to her vomit-less bed and went back to sleep.
And that’s what I did since I saw you last……. The End.