I’ve been letting myself go. Yes, I know, darlings, at a cursory glance I’m still as perfect as ever, but I’ve almost entirely ignored my eyebrows for months. All summer, in fact, and they were wayward.
LT and I both had things to do in Norwich today, so we parted company with me saying I’d return for him at 11.15, and then I went to fetch my watch from the jewellers and did a couple of other errands, including buying some lovely Earl Grey fumé tea (smoked Earl Grey is delicious, better than either EG or Lapsang, I reckon) and then, after browsing and window shopping a bit, I still had time on my hands. So I went into Jarrold’s and asked if they could tidy my brows, as you do in a department store, but I had to make an appointment for half an hour hence. So LT and I returned – that is, he went and browsed somewhere or other, I don’t know, while I got tidied up.
I don’t usually do this. I normally sort myself out. I’m awfully neat. She got it right, actually, I don’t look thin-browed and surprised, but I’m seriously neat. I like it but I don’t recognise myself.
Not that it’s very visible. I usually have my hair cut every five weeks because I’m a bit obsessive – you’ve never noticed? I hide it well, darlings, I hide it well. But last time I was at the hairdresser’s, their appointment system, recently gone over to online, was down (it was down more than up, they were pretty pissed off). I said I’d phone in a day or two and promptly forgot for six weeks. And I couldn’t get an appointment until next Monday. So I’m falling over my hair, which is way over my ears and practically down to my feet, and you can’t see my eyebrows at all because my fringe is below the end of my nose. Srsly, darlings. I’m almost blinded by it.