Any Monday that starts with a rubber duck on the Brisbane River, you know is going to be a good Monday.
Daughter2 and I continued our staycation. We did have a task in that we had to drop her car off to have the air conditioning fixed. No woman in her right mind is going to face an Australian summer with malfunctioning car air conditioning!
I wasn’t quite sure of the route so I followed D2 along the freeway. I didn’t have to risk life and limb to keep in her sight either. At one stage a young woman drove her car between us, and I very soon noticed that the said young woman, was indeed a stupid woman, as she had her sunvisor down so that she could view the mirror on the back of it and do her hair as she drove along.
My mother instinct jumped to life and I had visions that stupid woman was going to rear end my daughter at any moment, so as soon as my chance arose, I moved forward and placed my car between them.
Telling D2 how I was ready to sacrifice myself to save my child, I was met with a laugh and the comment “Then both our cars would have probably been put out of action!” So much for the Wonder Mother of the Year award nomination from that child.
We then moved on to a shopping mall, where a pot of Prince of Wales tea and cinnamon toast was called for, to give me strength to follow Daughter2 through many, many frock shops. Apparently, her wardrobe is not yet complete and so replenishment was called upon.
My role is to keep in the background until summoned and then to give advice on whether her choice of new frock is the right choice. Once we agree, she then puts the item on hold for a few hours and we proceed to the next door and repeat the performance. I get to provide comedy relief for the store crowd.
This process was nicely interrupted by an hour of complete bliss in which we experienced an Ella Bache facial. After been socially embarrassed after displaying my badly neglected skin cells under a blue light, the beautician agreed to tackle the enormous task ahead of her, and attempt a rescue of my epidermis.
Clothes hung in the little locker, I slipped between the soft cotton filled towelling covers, my hair tucked beneath a hair net. The lights were dimmed, the candles lit, and soft music played as background. I never had a date this good!
For an hour I was exfoliated, cleansed, treated, toned, moisturised and massaged and oiled. I made no effort to speak, enjoying my moment, except for the elephant in the room. My rumbling stomach.
No, it wasn’t hunger. I just find that when I relax and lie on my back my stomach feels the need to communicate with the outer world. Apparently it is quite common during massages and beauty treatments, but the Flamingo Dancer tummy does not do anything by halves, like the rest of me, and so it does communicate with gusto. So, after a joint laugh about my stomach, the beautician and I bonded for life. No doubt she will name her first born after me.
Eventually the bliss came to an end, and I was given a glass of water to drink, no doubt to steady my nerves as the upselling began. I had no intention of buying any products. Daughter2 was paying for my facial, and the added eye treatment I sneaked on to the account, and so I was scot free for credit card damage.
So, I left with only two thirds of the products my personal consultant, my new best friend, recommended to me. I apologised to her for not buying all her recommendations and begged for forgiveness, but there was a limit on the credit card and it was fast approaching. I promised to come back and show her my skin when the products were depleted, because my skin may be so improved that I may need a completely new and different range. Praise the Lord!
She had the grace to smile at me when we passed in the mall, a couple of hours later. Still shopping with Daughter2.
Daughter2 was happy that I had bought a few products, because she is worried that it is taking her a little longer to find a male mate, and if she doesn’t hurry up soon I won’t pass the “will she look like her mother in 20 years” test. Apparently, I have a role to play, and when The Man is trotted home in due course, I must pass muster, to insure her odds of success. I never realised.
Thank goodness that Daughter1 is now married, while I apparently still had some of the bloom of my youth!