Pop Goes the Weasel

The writer pressed ‘print’ and walked away from her computer. She stepped out of her clothes after catching sight of a worn rather OLD looking person in the mirror. Lank hair. Sallow skin. Very large bags. Not of the IT kind.

The shower pressure was crap but she washed her hair. And conditioned it, pulling her fingers through the knots that had gathered. She had not a creative thought. Nary a best seller idea. Bugger. She did however have an interview with Kim Hill which did not go to well.

Mostly she applied herself to the task. Exfoliation. With her lovely Bodyshop loofah gloves and her Antipodes Nirvana hand & body wash wild blackcurrant, spearmint leaf and cardamon. Her skin tingled. She smelt divine. Cleaner than clean.

Scoured skin was then anointed with every possible plumping, brightening, tightening, antioxidant Vitamin C packed serum she could lay her hands on. She dressed in lavender scented clothes. No leggings, baggy t-shirt, comfy bra, nana undies or sloppy slippers in sight. A floral blouse, jeans, boots. She does purport to like FASHION. She blow dried her hair. Plucked bits. Filled in the sparse prairie of her eyebrow (she’s written that line before, but doesn’t care). She coaxed on mascara. Age-not-appropriate lipstick. God. Watch out.

Her character cried out to her. You’ve missed a bit.  She said sorry I’m off to Twizel, the land of lazy boys and big skies, for a weekend of rowing. She still doesn't know regatta rules. Etiquette. But she does know the coaches’ lasagna she made last night, along with the family dinner the lemon biscuit home-baking fudge and the coxswain child’s macaroni cheese, weighs at least 5 kgs.

She also knows it's #worldbookday and she intends to read some over the weekend. Then she’ll be back in her office, behind the bookcase door on Monday, with her characters. And the world will continue on. Without her.

Have a great weekend folks!