Naughty N has her left eyebrow glued together with NHS PVA.
This is because she ran up Blackgang hill (long hill) did a jig of joy at the top and fell over. I must admit that though sympathetic in Nightingale-ish proportions, I’ve the sneaking suspicion that she was competing with me as I ran up Blackgang the day before.
She will deny this.
Having said that, Naughty N did manage to reach the top without walking (which I did not). At this point the jig of joy/triumph occurred – “Ididit!Ididit!Ididit!”, her foot turned under itself and she fell.
Apparently there was a lot of blood.
An old lady gave her a lift.
And then she spent the afternoon in A&E getting PVAed.
Since then I’ve been intrigued as to how Naughty N’s actual eyebrow took the brunt of the fall but every time I try to imagine the scene it all just looks hysterically funny.
But obviously it’s not funny.
So, anyway, I just want to point out that this running shit is dangerous. Not just for eyebrows, but also career prospects.
I found this out today.
“Baaaaaabe,” came this deep, pathetic mumble from somewhere beneath the pillows. “Where are you gooooing?”
“Running!” I declared.
“But it’s too early.”
Fought on my loyal Nike top. “S’not too early. It’s practically dawn.” Glanced through window where pitch black was broken up by orange street lamp and added, “ish.”
Gave pillows a quick kiss, then tiptoed downstairs, eased open door and crept out into cobwebby, September chill. Moments later there was soft rumble and a car came down the road,easing to a halt by the wall near my house. Door opened softly. Lucy slipped out, whispered a “hi” then in unison we sprinted off like two night time assassins.
Forty minutes later; back; mission/jog accomplished. It was daylight. Grins, breathless high fives and I was back in the house, buoyancy boosted with all those wha-hey endorphins that are released into your body when you run. Upstairs Ads was still buried beneath a pillow mountain, however Roo was kindly keeping him company by playing Star Wars Clone Wars at full volume on the laptop next to his head.
Buoyancy levels continued to boom as I banged out breakfast for the kids (pancakes on a school morning). I was still going strong at the Year 3 coffee morning with Roo’s lovely new teacher. However, by the time we left the school and got into the car, the buoyancy was beginning to ware off.
“Babe,” blurted Ads giving me a warning glance as he started the ignition. “No going into a trance now.”
“No. No tran-c-es,” I reassured him in a rather vague, unreassuring voice.
What followed could only be described a sa long, vague, trancey silence.
Buoyancy picked up as we picked up Ads’ aunt and drove over to the gorgeous Garlic Farm for lunch. Love this place. I ordered sweet potato and sage soup with malt bread and a ginger beer. Afterwards I tried to ward off the trance with an Americano, but even caffeine wasn’t strong enough. With food in my tum and the September sunshine on my face, the trance curled over me like a soft, seductive pashmina for the soul.
“Babe,” Ads voice broke in warningly. “No trances!”
Drove the lovely Aunty Sherry back to Ads’ mum’s where everyone chilled in the lounge and chatted. I had a call booked with my publisher, so I went and sat in the quiet, warm conservatory and whistled up any last strands of buoyancy.
“He’s just on the other line at the moment,” explained the girl who answered. “I’ll get him to call you as soon as he’s free.”
I leaned back in the soft, cushioned chair to wait. The fatal warmth of the conservatory curled itself around my shoulders. Gentle voices lapped through from the lounge, lulling my eyelids closed … softly coaxing ….
“Baaaaaaabe,” came Ads’ firm voice. “No trances!”
Eyebrows pinged upwards. Eyelids stayed shut.
“Urgh? Am not in a trance … am waiting for call…”
At that moment my mobile rang and it was the publisher and we had a very buoyant discussion re. Gorgeousness during which I listened with vigour and expressed a lot with my forehead expressions.
But my eyelids remained closed.
Which isn’t ideal for an important conversation.
And which I probably shouldn’t be admitting on a blog.
But Do You Know What?
It’s true. And it’s all about the self-acceptance. That’s what Grow Your Own Gorgeousness is all about.
Being Who You Are.
Because who you are is absolutely wonderful.
Even if your eyebrows have been glued together and you have your eyes shut during calls with publishers.
And it’s all ok.
But now I am going to bed even if it is only 20.53 GMT.