Retro Inspired Style: Black and white polka dot skirt
Jenni tagged me to do one of those “Seven Random Things About Me” posts a couple of weeks ago, and I started it, then quickly realised that because I’ve done these a few times now, there’s almost nothing about me that’s been left unshared here. Well, nothing that’s FIT to be shared, at least. I mean, I could bore you rigid with a lot of really mundane stuff (but then, that’s what Twitter’s for, surely?), and then there are all my deep dark secrets, obviously, which I just can’t share, but other than that, I got nothing.
OR SO I THOUGHT.
Once I got started, I realised that there actually is no limit to the rubbish I can talk about myself, so here are seven random facts about moi: I have a horrible feeling I may have already “shared” some of these (or maybe even all of them) at some point, so please just humour me, the way you would an elderly relative who is losing her marbles.
I have never had a pedicure or a massage in my life…
… and I probably never will. I just can’t stand the thought of people touching my feet, and I’m so bad at making small-talk that any other kind of treatment which involves strangers, you know, touching me, is horrifying to me, purely because of the socially awkward way I would handle it. I mean, I’m sure massages are super-relaxing for NORMAL people, but for the shy people amongst us, wine fulfils the same purpose, and is cheaper.
But I wear make-up every day, even if I’m not planning on leaving the house.
If you’d ever seen me without it, you’d understand why.
When I was laid off from my job as a reporter, I applied to work as a salesperson in a designer clothing store, purely for the sake of the staff discount.
I got the job (after one of the toughest interviews I’ve ever had, actually), but turned it down in favour of a job in PR which had twice the salary and made use of my mad writing skillz. It didn’t allow me to get 30% off designer fashion, though, so obviously that sucked.
I have developed a mild phobia about escalators
I’m secretly convinced that the moving stair is somehow going to suck me in and EAT ME. So while other people are able to step onto it without even breaking stride, I hop around at the top for ages, waiting for exactly the right minute to step on without being sucked in. And when that moment arrives, I kind of grab the handrail, close my eyes and jump, often whilst emitting a girlie little “ooh!” sound. It must be REALLY annoying for anyone waiting to get on behind me…
And I’m terrified of lifts
I think most people are, though, to at least some extent, aren’t they? And if they’re not, they should be. Because lifts are scary.
I have had cosmetic surgery…
… to remove two (non-malignant) moles from my face, which I’d hated my entire life. It cost a small fortune, and they both grew back after a couple of years, and had to be removed AGAIN, but it was still one of the best things I ever did, and I wish I could go back in time and have it done much sooner. They’ve both now been cut out at the root, and I’m told the chances of them returning a second time are slim, so naturally I’m expecting them to reappear any day now.
I am completely incapable of taking pain killers
I put them in my mouth, take a sip of water… and then I PANIC, freeze and sit there for five minutes with the pills still in my mouth and my eyes popping out of my head, terrified that if I swallow, I will surely choke to death. (I almost did choke to death once, incidentally, although not on painkillers, so every mealtime is an adventure for me now.) When I do finally muster the nerve to swallow them, one pill ALWAYS seems to get stuck halfway down my throat, and while that’s obviously not going to kill me, it does tell me that I was right to worry about it.
And there you have it: seven things that you didn’t really want to know, but which I told you anyway! If you read all the way to the end, you can consider yourself “tagged”…