I had all my hair cut off a couple of weeks ago (not a Britney style shaved head or anything – only into a graduated bob) and now I’m convinced I know how Samson felt when he went through the same thing. Alright, so he had his brutally hacked off in the middle of the night by a crazy lady called Delilah rather than willingly at 4.15 on a Friday afternoon by a lovely (and not that crazy) hairdresser by the name of Gemma, but even so…
I’ve not lost my strength, though (I didn’t have much in the first place)…just my mojo and my memory.
My seven year old and I went to Tesco last week, did a full shop and then at the checkout discovered that my card wouldn’t work. I knew I had money in my account (well, in my overdraft at least) but it wouldn’t work at the cashpoint either, so I had to leave a full trolley of shopping and traipse into town to sort it out.
It transpired that I’d been issued with a new, temporary card until my bank changed companies…and I’d had the new card in my purse the whole time. Not only that, I’d also had my husband’s takings in my bag that needed banking so I could have used that money to pay for my shopping and could have saved myself the embarrassment…and three hour round trip.
I went to Tesco again yesterday (again with our seven year old – hmm, coincidence?!) and when I got to the checkout, I didn’t have my card because it was in my other bag that I’d used on Friday night, so I had to go home and get it amid bemused, pitying looks that, bless me, I couldn’t even afford £18.65.
Come to think of it, I don’t actually remember Friday night very well, so THAT’S probably down to the haircut too, and has nothing to do with alcohol.
It’s a shame, because I always used to be so organised and groomed, a pillar of sobriety and modesty, an amazing cook, have a spotlessly clean house and quiet, well behaved children…or that’s how I remember it, anyway 🙂