So … I really like how this turned out. It’s basically a slightly tweaked version of this outfit, but I like it. Oh, I already said that, did I? Errmmm. Ummm. What else can we talk about? Oh, how about the fact that my torso is made out of … wait for it … one gigantic diamond? Alright, fine, it’s not. It just looks that way. But what if it was?? I think I would go by, hmm, The Amazing Bling Woman. My alter ego would be a meek, bespectacled, cardigan-wearing librarian called Beth, obviously. This outfit would be my version of Superman’s shirt-ripping moment. How’s that for a backstory?

What’s that you say? More pictures, less blah blah? Ok, fiiiiine.

Bling Woman out.

Taking blog photos is always interesting. Wait, did I write “interesting”? Because I mean “mortifying”. The act itself is embarrassing enough (I think my neighbours think I’m a whackadoodle … which is probably not that far off, actually), but then there is my entourage. I use that term loosely, obviously; I’m referring to my kids. Miss T is still too young to cause much of a commotion, but her brother’s got her back – he creates enough commotion for two kids. Two kids and a hyena. A very angry hyena.

Which means I usually end up with at least one photo that looks like this:

I’m trying not to read too much into it (and failing), but my son loves asking to have his photo taken – while doing random things. To wit:

In case you’re confused, he is reading a “book”. Better known as an IKEA storage box. Apparently, it was a very good story – by the sounds of it, loosely based on the narrative pattern of The Giving Tree, and featuring his dad’s 1974 Beetle and Taylor Swift. This, by the way, describes 85% of stories he “reads”.

Sometimes, the outfit is the least interesting part of it all.

This outfit is a perfect representation of my Sunday visits to my parents’ place (which is where I wore it): brunch outfit on top, chasing-the-kids outfit on the bottom. OK, so this is kind of a half-baked outfit, but I’m 22 days into this never-ending challenge, and I’m trying my damnedest to not turn this into the blog version of Valium. If you’re laughing, chances are you’re still conscious.

Anyway.

Can we talk about my hair? Again. I know. But, you guys, I’ve had a real life-changing experience. If you follow me on Instagram, you’ve heard me blathering about this ad nauseam a little while back: I discovered sea salt spray. Yeah, I know: sea salt spray is, like, so 1995 or whatever, but I didn’t have the internet or wavy hair in 1995 and I do now, so – there! My perm is fine and all, but it still needs some help to look, well, less I-accidentally-jammed-my-finger-in-an-electrical-socket and more … intentional. Beach wavy.

More like this.

Also, with less poof:

A few peeps asked about which products I use, and I have a very un exciting answer: I use a cheapie drugstore spray from Fructis, which costs a whopping $3. One, I hate paying a lot for beauty products I’m not sure will work. Two, I am cheap. Period. The spray I’m using works just fine, so I probably won’t upgrade unless I find a killer deal on a better brand at Winners. The only downside is that it does seem to dry out my hair, so I have to be careful about how much – and often – I use it. Which isn’t easy because I’m basically addicted to it. Mermaid hair in a bottle! Moar, please!