Missing Curls

Last night I went over to see a friend who had volunteered to give me a makeover. I can’t remember how this offer came up, but I decided I was sick of looking like – well, like I’ve looked for the last x years, and, given that I trust Carole’s abilities in that direction, thought I’d take her up on her offer.

I took over a bottle of wine and we had a glass while she applied moisturiser, blusher, mascara and the faintest hint of eyeliner (we’re talking the au naturel look here) and then she got out –

‘Curlers?’ I shrieked. (I have very curly hair.)

She explained that she was going to straighten my hair, purely to wind up Himself. I sat there and took several nervous sips of wine at the prospect of losing curls which, suddenly, I was rather fond of. Me and straight hair? Not at all sure. I reminded her of the time I was about to have my hair cut, and he said, ‘Anyone that messes with your curls is dead.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Carole blithely, plugging in the heated rollers.

By the end of the glass of wine, and by the time she’d removed the curlers and blow dried curls inside out (so to speak), it didn’t look bad. In fact, I liked it. It wasn’t straight but looked – different. Chic is a word that springs to mind but never one usually associated with the likes of moi. Peter Pan was the other description. Well, if you can imagine how PP would look at nearly 50.

We were both delighted with Carole’s works of art and went downstairs to have another glass of wine and sort the world out. When I got back home, I pranced into the kitchen, pink and blushing. ‘Well – what do you think?’

Himself looked at my face and said, rather dubiously, ‘Very nice.’ Not a good start. Then he looked at my hair and cried, ‘What have you done to your CURLS? Where have they GONE?’

He rang her up later, complimented her on the makeup and said, ‘as you’ve got rid of her curls, you’ll have to make me up now.’

I didn’t hear her response.