Over dinner yesterday evening, Lindsay told me that she'd be late home from school today, because she and her friend Tori were going to the salon where they get their hair done for a make-over. Apparently, the young lady who does the aesthetics (and I can only assume because my spell check didn't go haywire, I have that correct) needs to prepare a portfolio and wanted to use the girls as models for some "before" and "after" shots.
Lindsay went on to say that Alison (the salon owner & faithful blog follower!) suggested I should come in and do it as well. I was sitting there, feeling quite flattered, thinking perhaps it might be a fun thing to do, that is until Lindsay continues "She wants some middle aged models too". Wow. Way to burst my bubble. After all, she could have just said "models of all ages", but no she had to make that middle age jab.
Of course, Grady the resident comedian, takes that comment and runs with it. "So mum" he begins, "Does that mean you are middle aged or that you were born in the Middle Ages ?" Cue the laughter. I suppose it is at least a step up from the dinosaur age, which is when he usually implies I was born.
Keep in mind, these were the self same children who were begging me for gobs of money the night before. So in a span of 24 hours I have gone from being the "Best Mummy Ever!" to a washed up old fart. There is nothing like one's children to give one a reality check. Me thinks this brood needs to be taught a lesson, and as soon as I take my Geritol and have a nap, I'll get right on it.
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