Day 3

You know how you see commercials for beauty products and skin cleansers? The models (they are models, not normal people with charmingly asymmetrical faces like the rest of us) always have perfectly smooth, tied-back hair, they wear shining white singlets or robes, and they splash the water gracefully onto their faces in slow motion, in a glistening cascade of perfectly-aimed droplets...Well when I wash my face, it doesn't go like that.

I'm sure that if face washing was such a sensual, glamourous procedure as depicted on telly, that I would be hanging out for face-wash-o'clock. But the reality is, I'm not standing blissfully at a sink surrounded by fresh lotus flowers, in a blindingly white bathroom with towels made from the spun feathers of angel-wings. In actual fact, I've toddled into the bathroom - post kid bath hour - to find a sink full of chin hair, wet towels (in industrial strength navy blue) slopped on the floor, zero natural light, and a tile and brick combo reminiscent of the Trunchbull's Chokey. The face wash is missing it's lid, so it's all crusty and dried out at the top. No headband to be found - I always end up with a funny little mane of wet soapy hair,  bubbled up and stuck to my head.

When it comes time to rinse clean, I somehow manage to splash water not just on my face, but on my fringe, neck, chest, mirror, bathroom counter-top and all over my shirt. After drying with a towel that - judging by its' wetness - at least five other people must have beat me to use, the effect in the mirror is not the smooth glowing complexion I have been shamelessly promised. Unless 'blotchy' and 'greyish' are synonyms in the skincare industry for 'smooth' and 'glowing'. Hmph.

So with all that to look forward to, is it any wonder I skip washing off my make-up? I think what I need is a little bit of bathroom glam to provide motivation. Tomorrow's project is a 'face-wash funk-up'. Any ideas for what I can do?

In other news today, the plant has turned a most alarming shade of, well, green. The dog - obviously unaccustomed to such dietary regularity - has upchucked on the floor. I am two glasses of water away from my quota, and have - hallelujah - been once to the gym, with firm plans to return tomorrow. I have bought zero Black Milk, and have not even ventured near McDonalds.

My only big confessions are: I spent a glorious hour flouting item no. 15 today - oops, so very naughty - and I may or may not have slept in until 7am. Harvey's fault, he was supposed to wake me up. So I leave it to my (dwindling) readership to devise an appropriate punishment. What shall it be? :)

M x