The Scene Is Set
Right, so here’s the deal: I’m attempting to be efficient with my time because, as one does, I have to pop out to get my face lasered. Yes, lasered. The glamorous joys of surgical menopause, where rogue facial hairs become a new hobby for your face. Fabulous, right?
The Plan
In a burst of ambition, I decide to multitask. Why not bronze up my ghostly Celtic complexion while, er, answering nature’s call? Genius move, right? I grab my tinted moisturizer, determined to look less like a cave-dweller. Surely, nothing could go wrong.
Reality Hits
Well. Halfway through bronzing, I realize my hands are covered in the stuff. My faux leather leggings are suctioned around my ankles, and now I face a dilemma: finish the job or risk looking like I’ve had a tragic self-tanner incident. These leggings, mind you, are not the casual “flick-up-with-one-hand” type—they require a team effort. Spoiler: no team is available.
The Bathroom Ballet
Cue the chaos. My hands, now the colour of toasted almonds, have the grip of a stick of butter. I attempt a quick rinse at the sink. Of course, there’s no soap. Why would there be? The universe is laughing at me. Water alone isn’t cutting it, and now I’m stretching awkwardly off the loo, performing some sort of bathroom yoga to reach a towel. It’s out of reach, naturally.
The Clean-up Attempt
Grabbing a sad little cotton face wipe, I start dabbing at everything—hands, thighs, the general disaster zone. Finally, with a roll of toilet paper and sheer determination, I wrestle my leggings back into place. I glance at the mirror, and let me tell you: the sight is not one of triumph. Faintly orange, slightly flushed, and thoroughly exasperated, I look like a woman who’s just survived a beauty tutorial gone horribly wrong.
The Grand Exit
Off I go, utterly defeated, with tinted moisturizer smudged onto my waistband and a mild sense of shame. Why did I even bother? Laser lady is only going to wipe it all off anyway. This is forty-plus, folks—the age when you think you’ve got life sorted, only to find yourself grappling with bronzer-stained hands and leggings that clearly belong to a younger version of you.
Midlife Lessons
Cheers to us, the warriors fumbling through midlife with our learning experiences. Whether it’s bronzer disasters or the daily grind of figuring it all out, we’re out here trying. The results? Let’s just call them character-building.
Oh, and the spelling quirks in my blog images?
Think of them as a bonus feature—because, honestly, they’re making me laugh too hard to fix.
Coz life’s too short to stress over autocorrect when you’re grappling with tinted moisturizer and faux leather pants. 🧡
