Although only a measly seven days has passed it feels as though its been both a life time and five minutes since my last blog post. Whilst I have continued to stay indoors for the entirety of this week, it has still had its own events and... mishaps.
We began with a haircut. Thanks to covid, most people have become more accustom to the idea of only having haircuts at home, and I have cut Jack's hair several times (even before the pandemic). However, it was time for Jack to give me a haircut. He has done this once before during the previous lockdown (November? May? Possibly March?), and I would consider it a simple task - since my haircut is a straight line - with some exceptions to some light feathering in the front. The way I'm building this up it seems as though Jack did a terrible job, but to be frank he didn't, about an inch off everywhere and I handled the front. But of course he didn't do a bad job - it's a straight line. My problem is with the conversation that proceeded the haircut - he wanted me to return the favour. As I said, I've cut Jack's hair several times, but unexpectedly, as I've done it more and more, my confidence has gradually decreased. One would think knowledge on haircutting would go up the more you do it, but alas my barber skills seem to fall out of my head the more I turn the clippers on. His hair is uncharacteristically long by this point so I have to face the fear and do the cut. My thought process was to use scissors rather than the trimmer - I feel more confident with scissors, I have a strong understanding of how they operate (less can be said with moving blades). I start at the back and think so long as I cut everything the same amount shorter it will still be even? Row by row I trim using the scissors in an upward motion to give a more natural finish (like the pro I am), but over time his hair is starting to look like tiny staircases going up his head. I go back to try and correct my mistakes and definitely cut a chunk way to short, something I thought with scissors would be impossible. To cut (pun intended) a long story short, he wasn't best pleased with the first attempt. We then charged up the trimmer and a day later I had another crack. It ended more even, yes, but at the same time no as the trimmer lost steam about half way through. Third time lucky and by midnight Jack is semi-impressed with his new hair. The kitchen is covered with the remains and I feel so defeated by this point the temptation to buzz right down the middle of his head is growing. I think this will be the last home haircut for a while.
Moving on to the second event of our week; the hob. In our flat we have a gas hob, as we did in our last flat. They are new-ish to me (despite being quite old-fashioned) and the idea of gas and open flames in the kitchen still scares me but what can you do. I discovered this week that when making risotto, it is best to not pour a healthy splash of vegetable stock into the ignition of the hob, and the first gas dial. Our lights cut out immediately and smoke was gliding up from the dial in a small incense. Both Jack and I standing in hungry confusion, turn off the gas and venture in the dark to the trip-switches box - at this point we discover we don't own a torch? what millenials - and then turn the switch back on thinking we had solved the problem. Returning to the stove we attempt to continue cooking when whoops, it happens again - more smoke. It was at this point I thought we should maybe leave the gas, light and whisper of smoke alone - convinced the entire thing was going to explode any minute. One FaceTime to my parents later and we decided to turn the electrics off, let the hob "dry out" and order a pizza. The moral of the story is to always have food in your house that you can cook in the microwave - but I guess it was a good excuse for Deliveroo.
Now since it's still January I guess I can swing this as a "new years resolution" but to be honest I don't really believe in them - who could keep anything up for a whole year?! Nevertheless, recently I have discovered that how I look on the outside really impacts how I feel on the inside - revolutionary, I know. But I have become very used to the fact that I wear makeup for me - I'm married, I don't need to "try" anymore! But it turns out I do, for myself. During lockdown it has been sweatpants city, clean face and greasy hair out of pure laziness, but as I've continued to do that I have gradually become less and less happy with how I look. Browsing Pinterest optimistically for what 2021's winter fashion is going to be and wishing I could take part, looking at my wardrobe and then using the same 3 t-shirts, sweats and onesies, it's making me sad. Then one day it hit me - why can't I be like the people I see on Pinterest? Why aren't I allowed to wear cool clothes that make me look good and feel good? So after a lot of scrolling and favouriting on ASOS, I spent the remaining of my Christmas money on clothes and accessories I would see other people wear and think "wow, I could never pull that off". I am not a fashionable person, but I think I am deserving of at least dressing how I want in my twenties, doing my makeup however I like and maybe washing my hair a little more often. It seems silly that I've only figured this out at the age of 25, but I'm still young enough to wear wacky things older folks might not "get", but it makes me happy, so in a time like this, I think that's a priority. I still can't go anywhere in my new attire, but the walk from my bedroom to my computer just levelled up.