On a daily basis I fight the battle between smashing the source of my alarm clock and remembering that it is an Iphone, with an insurance excess that costs nearly as much as the phone is currently worth.
After wiping the tears and sleep from my eyes, I slowly walk towards the bathroom. I recently purchased a motion sensor spray that is taking some time to get used to. Every time I walk past it, it hisses at me making me think that it is man-spider's mates come to avenge his death (see arachno-foe-bia post). As the fog clears from my brain and the mist from my eyes, I realise that it is just the spray letting me know that I stink.
- It takes me less than 10 minutes to shower (which seems to impress and worry my mother in equal measures).
- 5 minutes to moisturise.
- 5 minutes to choose my clothes.
- 5 minutes to iron them (I can hear my twin's disappointed sigh from here).
- 5-10 minutes to do my make up, depending on whether my liquid eye liner wants to comply.
- 5-10 minutes to straighten my hair.
Adding up the longest possible times, I should be ready in 45 minutes. So what on earth occupies the other 2 hours and 15 minutes?! Okay, I'll admit that I usually have Judge Judy (my hero!) on in the background but I am still doing things whilst watching her from the corner of my eyes.
I've started to think that on an unconscious level, I like the thrill of the chase. The chase of the train that is. No matter how early I wake up, I still always end up with 5 minutes to catch my train. Which is half the time it takes to get to the station. So, I Usain Bolt it to the train station, jumping through the train doors just as it's beeping. The problem with this approach is that I run so fast to catch the train, that by the time I sit down (if I'm lucky enough to get a seat), I've started to perspire. For the rest of the journey, the sweat runs down the sides of my face, causing streaky lines in my foundation. Eager not to be left out, my hair attaches itself to my face, covering the gaps previously filled by foundation. Between the streaky make up and the half frizzy/half straight hair, I have succeeded in making myself look like a clown.
Once I reach work, I run into the ladies in an attempt to make myself look presentable. I'm usually cutting it fine to clocking in time so I look for ways to cut corners. One method I use is the hand dryer. I use it to quickly dry myself up whilst simultaneously making myself overheat - desperate times!
My office has just moved premises and gone with it are my cheats. Instead of the trusted old hand dryers that you can stick your hand (face or body in my case) underneath, we now have the fancy Dyson fans where you have to put your hands in. Whilst I did manage to lose weight in recent years, not enough came off my face to allow it to fit it into the slot.
I was already wary of these new fandangled dryers, after watching an episode of the Big Bang Theory where Sheldon describes them as incubators of bacteria but they have now made my enemy list.
So I walk through the doors of my office with my hair tangled; make up smudged and clothes crumpled. Looking exactly as if I woke up like this.