Hi!
So, some
people read my 1st entry which makes everything much less awkward
than it could have been.
Girls.
Girls are funny creatures. Sometimes people have referred to
me as a girly girl and I have fallen off my chair [that reminds me – one of the
girliest things I’ve ever done is repeatedly blow kisses to my friend across
the food technology classroom in high school after we were banned from sitting
together. I reached up to catch one she had sent in my direction and fell
backwards off my high stool. We had fun explaining that].
One fond girly memory occurred during my modelling days (Day.
Hour). Yes, ladies and gents, I did used to be a model. I was snapped up in a
bridal shop whilst trying on bridesmaid dresses. When the kind lady asked if I
had ever done any modelling, I actually thought
she was taking the mick. I could not believe she would humiliate me like this in
front of my family and friends. I replied rudely and sarcastically before her
facial expression informed me that she had not been joking.
Two weeks later I turned up to a posh venue where I would be
paid for a hair stylist and make-up artist to doll me up before I ‘catwalked’
in wedding and bridesmaid dresses.
Every girl’s dream! Surely?
Yes. It was. Until I realised I was to change in and out of
dresses in some small toilets along with 2 staff and about 8 other girls. One
by one the girls began to strip off. At first I didn’t know where to look. Then I
thought to myself, ‘Hey, I’m a professional. This is what us models do!’ and
began to relax. Until I noticed everybody was in lovely white/ivory bridal-type
underwear. Practical and beautiful.
Sadly, mine were neither. My once-white once-strapped strapless bra was suddenly the least of
my worries when I remembered I had opted for my comfy knickers that boldly
stated “SWEET CHEEKS” across the buttocks.
I wasn’t asked to model again.
-------------------------------------
A regular occurrence in our household is me questioning Dave
about which earrings I should wear.
Dave has a theory that, before women have even spoken such a
question, we have already made the decision as to which earrings we would like
to wear. It’s like a test. If he picks the ‘wrong’ ones, we say something
subtle, like “You picked the wrong ones” and then he says they both look just
as good and we think he is lying (he is), then we opt for the ones we had in
mind all along and can’t enjoy our evening fully because we are paranoid that
he doesn’t like our earrings, when really he couldn’t care less if we had a
bull ring through our nose aslong as there is food.
Busy bee
I’ve been such a busy bee these past couple of weeks and the
next few months are going to be no different. I have bought myself a whiteboard
and created a planner which is going ok but I can’t help it would have been a
useful thing to do 3 years ago when my course started.
Although due to obvious reasons I can’t discuss much about
my placement, I’ll just share these two mortifying little gems with you
-On my first day we were given an
induction by a member of staff. We were touring the staff kitchen when I
exclaimed (complete overreaction) “My mug has gone! I’ve only been here an
hour and someone’s taken my mug!”
Another student asked, was my mug
not the one I had just been drinking out of? “Oh, yes. Yes it was. Panic over”
-We had a staff meeting today and
half-way through I was reminded of the urgency to wash some black socks that are all black.
Glancing down, beneath my awful green trousers, the words “LOVE MACHINE” glared
at me. In fear of forgetting and crossing my legs to display the robot
clenching a rose in its teeth, I bent down subtly and folded them over as best
I could.
Miranda x
