Today has been all about the maintenance, the maintenance of me.
I was due to have a smear test this morning. I fretted about this for most of yesterday on and off. Mostly I worry about what to wear.
I know this seems absolutely insane, but trust me, you do not want to be wriggling out of stone washed jeans with the help of a practice nurse, the angle between the radiator and the door, and a pair of cold forceps. Nor do you want to be dealing with poppers, lacings, complex arrangements of buckles and/or anything that means that you have to linger longer than is humanly necessary in the presence of someone who is about to stick an icy sommelier’s corkscrew up your foof whilst making small talk.
You want to be in and out like a ninja.
Ideally you want to wear an A line pinafore with enough material to cover your head and block the view of any squinting, grunting, sweating people working away at the sharp end of proceedings. You need easy release bloomers, or none at all. I don’t feel safe in a pantless state I’m afraid. It makes me very agitated, but if you’re all gung ho commando, go for it.
As for footwear, flip flops are good at being easily off and onable, but not good for speedy exits, so I’d suggest espadrilles.
The final touch to the whole ensemble should be a rubberised face mask of President Reagan a la Patrick Swayze in Point Break, to avoid all humiliation when meeting people who have stared into your undercarriage, just in case you bump into them while buying cat litter in Tesco.
In this weather you will also want to add stout socks and a serious winter coat. It is bloody freezing. Really you should try and sort out your timing so that you have the damn examination in the summer.
Or not at all.
Today ended up being not at all, due to the fact that my period arrived early and has given me a week’s respite from the pinafore and espadrilles ensemble.
Because of this, I spent the first part of my morning leaping around in glee like Anne Boleyn being given a pardon by Henry.
I spent the second part having my hair done by Jenn, a lovely friend who I discovered is an aces hairdresser who will come to my house and do the necessary for 50% less than I pay in the salon. There are many added bonuses. I know the biscuits are good. I make a damn good pot of coffee that doesn’t taste like weak cat pee, and because Jenn is my friend I don’t have to talk about where I’m going on my holidays. Today she bought me some lunch, a noodle and enoki mushroom dish. You don’t get that in Krazy Kuts.
Buoyed by the success of all of this organising of my person I decided to stop ignoring the dentist and booked in for my six monthly check and scale and polish.
Then I was exhausted and had to have a little lie down. I hate doing this caring for my person malarkey. I realise that I am one of the most low maintenance women on the planet. I find myself feeling resentful if I have to brush my hair more than once a week. Apart from my daily needs in terms of being sanitary, I spend as little time in the bathroom or getting dressed as possible.
I just think of all the other stuff I could be doing with my time, and then generally just go and do it instead of plucking my eyebrows or mowing my face or whatever thing it is that we’re supposed to do these days. It’s just exhausting, and the more you do, the more you have to do. Better not to start at all, or before you know it it will be pinafores and Espadrilles all day long instead of once every few years.