Of Skirts and Statistics
I heard on the radio just t'other day that the average woman spends 90 minutes getting ready to go out, and because I really have nothing better to occupy myself with I decided to test the theory- so heres my preparation itinery.
17:10- Crawl home and hurl freezing cold self in shower.
17:35- Watch neighbours, armed with tin and polka cup of coffee, mirror, brush and hair straightners.
17:40- Burn self on straightners.
17:42, 48, 53 and 55- see above
18:00- Throw straightners across room in hissy fit (all 3 feet of room) and beg my beautiful Sophie flatmate to take over.
18:30- Hair all done and dusted.
18:35- Find self irrevocably drawn to chess game hidden beneath sofa to avert ridicule and mockery; me and Sophie started this abut two weeks ago and keep coming back to it in quiet moments.
19:00- Realise Sophie and everyone else has been ready to leave for about half an hour.
19:01- Commence hunt for clean clothes; it would appear that yet again my clothes haven't washed themselves.
19:05- Commence hunt for red glittery boots.
19:08- Decide on underwear; progress.
19:10- Get changed. Swap skirts with my beautiful Sophie flatmate, and remove the remnants of days makeup. Start over.
19:15- Spill bottle of makeup remover on Sophie's skirt.
19:18- Contemplate wardrobe.
19:35- Decide on new outfit. Shimmy out of sodden clothes and shimmy self into teenytiny red dress.
19:40- Smudge lipstick in manner not unreminiscent of Marilyn Manson. Make coffee for all. Visit balcony, and nearly freeze to death.
19:50- Stare at pile of clothes, desperately seeking something similar to what I'm wearing, but warmer.
19:59- Give up.
20:17- Ensure cupboards are well stocked with Lemsip, coffee and paracetamol.
20:30- Fall off the back of the sofa and ladder stockings.
20:35- Swear. Loudly. And consistently, until someone pays attention to my plight.
20:45- Ready!
I ask you to bear in mind that it took me at least half an hour to find a working pen and some paper, even if I did give up and use eyeliner and a mirror for accurate note-taking.
*Mutters under breath, counting on fingers*
I can't count. How long is that?
I think its about four hours.
Good lord.
UPDATE: Todays Independent informs me that 98,000 people in the UK can't count- I'm not sure how comfortable I am with being in this classification, but the thought of enrolling in remedial maths lessons for those with More Important Things To Focus On During High School (namely, during a double lesson last thing on a Friday, which is, quite frankly, perverse) makes me want to cower behind the nearest Big Thing, with i-Pod on full blast.
Its one of the key joys of my life that no-one's likely to spring mathematical questions at me out of a kind of perverse enjoyment- or for any other reason. "Girl! Whats 9 45ths to the power of 3!?"
17:10- Crawl home and hurl freezing cold self in shower.
17:35- Watch neighbours, armed with tin and polka cup of coffee, mirror, brush and hair straightners.
17:40- Burn self on straightners.
17:42, 48, 53 and 55- see above
18:00- Throw straightners across room in hissy fit (all 3 feet of room) and beg my beautiful Sophie flatmate to take over.
18:30- Hair all done and dusted.
18:35- Find self irrevocably drawn to chess game hidden beneath sofa to avert ridicule and mockery; me and Sophie started this abut two weeks ago and keep coming back to it in quiet moments.
19:00- Realise Sophie and everyone else has been ready to leave for about half an hour.
19:01- Commence hunt for clean clothes; it would appear that yet again my clothes haven't washed themselves.
19:05- Commence hunt for red glittery boots.
19:08- Decide on underwear; progress.
19:10- Get changed. Swap skirts with my beautiful Sophie flatmate, and remove the remnants of days makeup. Start over.
19:15- Spill bottle of makeup remover on Sophie's skirt.
19:18- Contemplate wardrobe.
19:35- Decide on new outfit. Shimmy out of sodden clothes and shimmy self into teenytiny red dress.
19:40- Smudge lipstick in manner not unreminiscent of Marilyn Manson. Make coffee for all. Visit balcony, and nearly freeze to death.
19:50- Stare at pile of clothes, desperately seeking something similar to what I'm wearing, but warmer.
19:59- Give up.
20:17- Ensure cupboards are well stocked with Lemsip, coffee and paracetamol.
20:30- Fall off the back of the sofa and ladder stockings.
20:35- Swear. Loudly. And consistently, until someone pays attention to my plight.
20:45- Ready!
I ask you to bear in mind that it took me at least half an hour to find a working pen and some paper, even if I did give up and use eyeliner and a mirror for accurate note-taking.
*Mutters under breath, counting on fingers*
I can't count. How long is that?
I think its about four hours.
Good lord.
UPDATE: Todays Independent informs me that 98,000 people in the UK can't count- I'm not sure how comfortable I am with being in this classification, but the thought of enrolling in remedial maths lessons for those with More Important Things To Focus On During High School (namely, during a double lesson last thing on a Friday, which is, quite frankly, perverse) makes me want to cower behind the nearest Big Thing, with i-Pod on full blast.
Its one of the key joys of my life that no-one's likely to spring mathematical questions at me out of a kind of perverse enjoyment- or for any other reason. "Girl! Whats 9 45ths to the power of 3!?"
posted by Imogen @ 7:52 pm
4 Comments:
At 26 November, 2005 19:46 ,
Imogen said...
Hmm what? I mean, admittedly there is a lot of stuff worth humming in disapproval over- personally, i think the really bad bit is that I still can't straighten my own hair after years of practise.
At 26 November, 2005 21:37 ,
Inexplicable DeVice said...
My Gosh. It's like Bridget Jones!
At 27 November, 2005 14:41 ,
MuppetLord said...
Hmm...it's still a while.
At 29 November, 2005 19:42 ,
Rick said...
brilliant. someone whos almost as obsessed with hair as me. I will be tuning in for more :-)
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home