life through pink colour glasses: Nov 22

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Nov 22 - Dec 7

It's been a busy two weeks. Spent mostly travelling. Starting with a fabulous trip to sunny Goa with the girls, an ultra quick stop over at my friend's beautiful apartment in sultry Mumbai, it's now all razais, oranges in the sun and endless cups of tea at wintry Delhi. If there was any justice in the world, I would be a frequent flyer gold card holder at the Cheap-and-Discounted-Apex-Fare Airline.

So much has been seen and done in the past two weeks. In Goa there was the bikini contest, where a guy entered and nearly won, and all the sea food and Bacardi Breezers I devoured (for the record: I usually think Breezers are for sissies and would under normal circumstances never be seen enjoying one, but this was Goa and the Breezers pretty much replaced water so this is never to be held against me, never ever.) and the lovely tan that I got and that bitch about publicly just to get people to notice it. (He he!)

Bombay was spent gushing over my friend's gorgeous new apartment, figuring out a Tata Indicom phone and using all my willpower not to spend my non-existent money.

Delhi till now has pretty much been a battle to look good while trying to stay warm. The more I try, the more I'm convinced the only way to achieve that is to get those Rs. 4,500 boots from Benetton. I do after all, come to Delhi at least once during the winter and for at least 10 days. Is it really unreasonable to want to spend a couple of month's salary on shoes, jackets and accessories? Those colourful mufflers look so cute!! And if I wore those super sexy boots with that Mango skirt, I know Lakme will beg me to participate as a solo act in their next fashion week. Sulk! I hate being poor. I think it might just be worse than being fat. Or maybe fat is worse. I don't know, they both suck equally.
And I'm both. (Hmm. Next blog: my suicide note)

So anyway, through all my exciting escapades (ahem), some things remain routinely mundane. The must-find-job-soon panic rises everyday but is squashed by an optimism that comes from hell knows where! Conversations on what to do for new years eve have started cropping up. (I of course, am more worried about finding something to squeeze into that doesn't make me look like Mrs. Santa Claus.) And there are my fortnightly visits to the bloody beauty salon.

Most people may not know this, but I hate going to salons. Unfortunately the natural shape of my eyebrows belongs perfectly in the movie 'Prem Qaidi' and it's only with some diligent threading that I'm rendered fit for human viewing. So there I was, last Friday, in the least comfortable chair ever designed, bright white halogen lights blazing through closed eyelids, one hand stretching my eyebrow from above, the other applying an equal and opposite force from below. While my poor skin was coming to terms with this paradox, Ms. Grumpy at the salon was busy drowning my eyebrow in a sea of talcum powder. Once sufficiently covered under the snowy mountain, Grumpy adjusted my head with a firm tug and started threading.

Ladies, you know the pain I'm talking about. And men, you'll have no idea right now but one day you'll pay for this. (That's why God invented hernia. That's his way for making up to us for eyebrows, waxing, period & childbirth pains)

As Grumpy plucked my eyebrows, one excrutiating strand at a time, I squirmed and writhed. You will not cry, I chided myself. It's been years now, get used to it. To add to the painful hair removal was the ridiculous chair I was seated on. Made for a 4 foot tall person, I had been adjusted on it with a couple of out of shape cushions hoisted under my neck. As I tried to be brave for all vain women around the world, Grumpy went for a particularly short eyebrow hair. Shorter hair is harder to trap between the thread and so Grumpy decided tough was the only way to go. She abandoned all gentleness and swooped on the hair with the determination of...I don't know, I think she set new examples of determination that day! Even with my eyes closed I could see her, frowning down on my brow, hell bent on winning this war against the little eyebrow hair. All that was going on in my head at the time was Ouch, ouch, ouch, ouch, owwwwwwww! Just when all Gods had been called upon, Grumpy suddenly stopped. With an irritated tch, she frowned at me and complained, madam, your hair is so thick!

I mean, is she friggin serious?!??!?

I sit there, in that chair from hell, in a goddman unisex salon of all places, going through this bi-monthly torture, being decent enough not to cry out, smack her on the head, break a few mirrors and run out and that ill-tempered shrew has the nerve to bitch about the quality of my eyebrow hair!

It's my hair, for crying out loud. What can I possibly do about it? Do I have the option of going back and changing parents so I get different genes? Is there a Hair-Thinning lotion available that I'm not aware of? Or do I just shave my eyebrows so Ms. Grumpinson can have the pleasure of drawing on eyebrows of her choice on me?

Enough was enough, I decided. Not only does she suck at her job, she is clearly a whiner and really not much of a team player. She's not getting away with this criticism of my hair. (Feel free to insert your, "Because I'm worth it" joke here.)

As I tersely ordered her to finish my mind started plotting revenge. I'd been screwed by salon girls too many times to let it pass. Somewhere, the downtrodden must rise. Do I complain about her to her boss? Or should I just hold back her tip?

As Grumpy handed over the little mirror to me for inspection, I stared deep into my soul (after quickly making sure the eyebrows were even). Everyone has seen your nice side, I thought, why not show them (and yourself) what you're really made of?

On the side of the mirror I could see Grumpy coming towards me, holding a big glass bottle of rose water and cotton, for that silly eyebrow massage they give you at the end. She started dabbing the cotton with the rose water and just then I swiveled around on the chair (it had finally shown some use, the piece of junk) and casually stretched my leg out, as if contemplating a pedicure.

Cut to: Grumpy falling heavily on the floor, rose water bottle flung on male customer and cotton swabs flying all over the salon. Just as the rose water bottle came crashing down on the floor, so did Grumpy and the fusion sound they produced together was pure magic to my ears.

Aw, be careful now, I said patronizingly and walked all over my enemy towards the billing counter.

I paid, waved and walked out and that day, for the first time I felt how a girl should feel after a visit to the salon, really bloody good.

Posted by that girl in pink | 2:35 pm | 7 comments

7 Comments

at 4:51 pm Vijayeta said...: You Rock, babe! And abt thick eyebrow hair...i must have heard that one a million times! It drives me mad too. I'm glad you did what you did...i feel vindicated too :)
at 6:23 pm lemontree said...: you go girl!
(always wanted to say this)
at 12:35 pm Anonymous said...: pink!
well done... on behalf of all womankind. not only was the trip- action kick ass but the 'be careful now' quip super smooth!

just for that you deserve the benetton boots! lemon, macker.. what say we chip in as well and make it the birthday gift?! (unless lemon has already bought hers grr rrrr!)
love,
nm
at 12:37 pm Anonymous said...: vijayeta...come back! been an avid reader of your blog. where have you been?!
nm
at 5:48 pm Vijayeta said...: LOL...I'm back! Thanks for the comments, people! (Your cheques are in the mail.) Was travelling on work and meeting inhuman deadlines...
at 10:19 pm a s a said...: no! hahahah!

my first visit to your blog.. and it's nice. i'll be back!
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