What a week!!!!.
The gardener came to prune trees and bushes; the fence man came to take measurements as we have to replace the trellis that the last storm took down, and the skip man came to take care of all the junks.
And all this just between Monday and Wednesday: quite impressive right?. Well, no. It would have been impressive if even the plumber had shown up.
On Wednesday morning, he swore me on the phone he was coming in the afternoon.
Not that I was so naive to believe him, but the fact that the travelling husband announced he was coming home a day earlier from his business trip, made me think that maybe there was something going on.
Maybe Mr M(our plumber for those who had not read my previous post) and he had secretly spoke and arranged to eventually meet in person.
The excitement of what could have possibly happened that day, gave me an incredibly writing boost and I wrote non stop all afternoon, but when by 7 pm, the husband was home but Mr M had not come yet, I had to give up the hope.
It might have been the rollercoaster of emotions , or (most likely) the fact I wrote in the kitchen instead of in my study embraced by my very comfy office chair, but an atrocious migraine accompanied by a very stiff neck assaulted me and didnt leave me for a few days.
The rest of the week was a nightmare: I could not write because the screen made me puke; driving was an absolute hassle but I had to do it, at least for the school run. Even walking the dogs was a challenging task.
My brain was totally messed up, to a point that I left one of the teachers cornered me and convinced me to walk daughter number two’ s class to the local mills for a tour that very same Friday.
In my defence, she caught me completely off guard but still: “seriously? “, said the wise and clever me to the naive me, “eight years in the school and you still had not learned to run as soon a teacher come towards you with the suspicious imploring face?”.
Friday morning the headache was slightly better but still there along with my sore neck and my extreme crankiness. By 10.15 am I am ready to leave home and meet the class at school gate by 10.30 as instructed , except I received a frenzy phone call from Mrs O (the begging teacher) saying she had given me the wrong time, she is very sorry but the class is already on its way to the mills.
A big smile started to form on my face as for a brief moment I thought I was off the hook. Pretty soon that smile turned into a grin as what she meant, it was actually for me to go straight to the mills, meet the class there, walk them through the tour and then back to school. “Boomer” . So now here I am at the local old mills reception. Of course, being so late when I arrived everybody turned to me and I suddenly turned into a third grader myself and felt the excruciating need to justify my indefensible lateness with everybody: Sorry I was given the wrong time, it was not my fault”, I started to recite like a mantra until one of the teachers approached me and gently caressing my arm went:”It is ok Mrs V. We know it was not your fault. You can relax now”. I am straight back into an adult, only a very stupid and embarrassed one.
The mills’ tour went better than expected and even the weather had held up. It was indeed windy and cold but dry.
Two hours later we finally made it back to school, I waved happily and a bit less happy I realised I had to walk all my way back to the mills to collect my car and so I ended up to walk also daughter number one class that was on the second mills’ tour.
Once I put the “Mills’ affair”behind me and I eventually headed home in extreme need for painkillers to ease my headache that by then, no wonder had gone worst.
Not even five minutes in the house that someone knocked on the door.
I peeped from the window and I see a huge guy with a toolbox.
I opened the door and he introduced himself as one of the guys who help Mr M and says he was there to replace the tap.
For as much as I cared he could be whoever he wanted, as soon he changed that bloody leaking tap.
All excited for the unexpected visit, I escorted him upstairs and I didn’t even get upset when he didnt remove his shoes(obviously MR M had not had time to properly train him yet).
Ten minutes later, he walked out my door while I was left in my bathroom looking at the drops that kept spilling and cursing the travelling husband who bought the wrong tap.
That was far too much for one morning: my head was pulsing and my mood was dangerously bad.
I drove down to the village and annoyed by everything and most of all my hair that kept going into my face with the wind, I stepped into the hairdresser and ask for an appointment:
“When”, she asked. “Now”, I answered.
Lucky me she had a cancellation. She sat me on the chair and asked what I wanted to do. “Chop it all off”, I said exasperatedly.
The young girl looked at me puzzled, but also a bit scared. Understandably scare, as I had the face of someone who had not had a proper sleep in three nights, had a pounding headache for the same numbers of days and, on top of it all, had a very bad morning. She, of course, could not know all this and probably just thought I was a psychopath or a potential serial killer ready to jump on my feet and make a massacre in the saloon.
“Oh ok, I wash it and then we will see what we can do”, she told me with a stupidly far too patronising tone, because if I was really a psychopath that would have sure triggered me off.
Lucky her, and the test of the people in the shop, I am a pretty stable person and calmly followed her to the washer!
Her gentle and light little hands did very well to my head, I have to give her this.
Back to styling chair and in front of the mirror, she approached me suggesting a restyle of my bob.
“I don’t want a restyle, I want to cut it short”
She started cutting and then stopped: “no no”, I say” cut more”.
She suggested to blow dry it first and then if I still think I want to go shorter she will cut more.
I frankly thought it was a waste of time, but her terrified expression told me she must have had some very traumatising experience with unhappy clients and so I graciously agreed to do as she said.
When she had done and I look like I am wearing a mushroom hat on my head, she asked: “So? What you think?”
” Still too long”, I sharply replayed, and even if I was really tempted I kept myself from adding, “I told you!!!”. She cuts the first lock of hair and looked at me for approval. I nodded with my head and we kept going like that: she cuts and I nod until there is not much left to trim.
I feel lighter, and even the headache is gradually starting to fade off.
Saturday the head was much better, the mood had dramatically improved, and even the weather was back to spring. I gardened all day planting and repotting flowers and vegetables and in the evening realised that the migraine was completely gone🎉
Only on Sunday morning, when I got up the bed, I realised that after all that kneeling, bending, lifting and digging, the pain had simply shifted from my head to my joints. The joy of ageing they say, but when I look at my garden and my new hair I can’t care less!
Have good week everybody.
here is the new hair😀