New Year, New ID

New year, new ID

Been growing out my hair - it's now Mermaid length...

Girls - you know what I'm talking about ^_^

Just a quick one this week - things have been kind of hectic with work - which is a good thing, 

Just something about hair, I used to have really really long hair, so long that I'd have to sweep it off my back before sitting so it wouldn't get stuck under my butt. 

Every morning, like Rupunzel in her tower, mum (who was nothing like the witch from the story) would brush it out and plait it, accompanied by my occasional screams and whining - "mum, stop, it hurts". Until one morning, in an act of desperation, she dragged me outside and cut it of. 

I couldn't believe it I went from being able to use my plait as a children's climbing rope to a bob so short I looked like someone had stuck a small cereal bowl on my head and cut around it. Which she had - much to my Aunty's horror (she was a hairdresser and tried her best to fix it when I saw her later that year). I was so traumatized that anytime I saw a movie where someone would cut their hair I would freak out, curl up in a ball and tug at my bowl cut - you can imagine everyone's surprise when before Joan of Arc even got to the stake I was balling my eyes out over her long locks floating down the river... Don't even get me started on Felicity... 

It didn't take me too long to realize though that when running around, getting dirty and dealing with hot summer days short hair is definitely an advantage, which is why I kept it that way till at least year 8, when in a friendly girly sleep over I was told by friends that if I wanted to be prettier I'd need to get a tan, wax my eyebrows and grow my hair... aggh the tactfulness of 13 year old advice :) 

But here I am 10 years later, with a yellowish tinge that took me till today to develop, two separate eyebrows and hair that reaches just past my boobs, a fact people are constantly shocked by as it's so often up and out of my way - even I forget it's long until I need to wash it... 

Don't worry though, I didn't do it for them, I took my time and let changes happen gradually - something I recommend to any young readers out there - don't let anyone force you into doing something you're not ready for. Unless it's wearing deodorant - trust your mum when she's says it's time to start ;) 

Have a great week! 

Lely Cinderelly

I'm not really into fashion, in fact if you asked any member of my family or particularly truthful friends you would come away convinced that I insist on dressing with my eye's clothes each morning and simply hoping for the best. I've gone way beyond that stage of looking through photos of your early years and cringing at the clothes you deemed "cool" I do that every morning when I look on the back of my chair and see the combination I had attempted the day before. 

The awareness of my impending trip to jail,  escorted roughly by the fashion police, didn't arise recently from a general look at normal outfits around me or the continued disproval of family and friends "Lesley, you look like a dag, go back upstairs and change or your not coming out with us". No, I've always had a feeling deep down I was destined for a life of odd looks and sad muttering. 

Who could forget the hand shirt I wore for about a year that not only linked me to the joyous members of the toddlers band "high five" but invited anyone I passed to to either snicker inconspicuously then high five their friends or simply touch the shirt with an open hand as if I had asked them to do so (back in the days that this wasn't considered a sexual offense). 

One of my favorite clothing blunders came about on a sunny "book day" in Primary. I had begged mum to help me make a cinderella costume, unlike most girls my age I was slightly boyish and thought cinderella in rags was far more appropriate attire for a parade in front of the entire school, so mum diligently stayed up late that night sewing paper patches on a few of my clothes that already looked a bit worn (side bar - this was almost my entire wardrobe). Walking to school the next day busily adjusting my head scarf and ripping some new holes in my skivvy I also thought it a good idea to smudge dirt on my face. It never occurred to me that it didn't have to be actual dirt, it could instead have been anything brown in colour, but I guess I wanted to be authentic. 

I strolled proudly into school, stinking of fertilizer, in what I thought was such a kick ass outfit I'd be asked to lead our year in the parade. Head held high I walked straight into my friend who reeled back disgusted as she attempted to wipe my copious amounts of dirt off her gorgeous gown and then straightened her tiara flustered.

"wow Lesley, you look…. umm (I think she wanted to say dirty but instead said)… what.. aggh, who are you? 

"Cinderella" I said proudly - pah, as if she didn't' know. Her eyes took in my outfit, looking through the dirt she saw the patches and it suddenly clicked 

"Oh right, you're like, Cinderella in rags right?"

"Yep" I swished my skirt proudly "I put the dirt on myself, I wanted to be authentic" 

"mmmm, looks, umm, looks authentic" she smiled sympathetically "I'm Cinderella too actually… the princess" - As if she had to clarify. 

I wasn't fazed, I loved my dirt and the conversation was dropped. 

Later that day it was time to have the parade. We gathered in the hot sun, parents, teachers and children, as each year took turns to walk around the circle. As I had predicted I was chosen to lead the parade - with my friend, little did I know the teachers had only agreed to have me accompany her as they liked the concept of seeing the before and after. A quarter of a lap in and I realized what people were laughing and pointing at, I was no longer the hard done by girl of the fairytale that had to work hard at life and happiness, I was just simply the princesses dirty cousin… Even my little sister shuffled back from the crowd head down when she saw the negative attention I was getting. I looked down and began to wipe some of the dirt off as discreetly as I could, my friend saw and it was in this moment she really became the definition of friend. She held her head up, took my hand and taking the tiara of her head, placed it on mine. 

After that the laughing stopped and people began cheering, now this could also have had something to do with the fact that someone dressed up as Tigger from Whinnie the pooh did a small summersault behind us, but I like to think it was because people had seen the kindness of my friend and thought it was about time they did the same. 

So if you see someone wearing something a little quirky or you think they may have gotten the dress code wrong, don't laugh, don't make fun - they're most probably aware of the blunder already, all they need is a little cheer, and I guarantee you'll make their day. 

So in the words of Ellen

"Be kind to each other"

Your fashion backward correspondent 

Lesley  

I'm back, did you miss me?... don't answer that...

Apparently I'm jewish. 

No I've never been to a synagogue (I just had to spell check the word), practiced judaism, experienced the delights of 8 days of presents on Hanukah or even been lavished in the attention only a Bat Mitzvah could bestow. However thanks to my ancestry I haven't been able to escape the traits so wonderfully endowed within the Jewish community. No I'm not necessarily talking about my excessive amounts of hair - this I very well could have inherited from my mums side - I'd just like to take this moment to thank all the Maltese in my family that made combing my arm hairs a possibility, it has provided both my fiends and I hours of entertainment. 

Nor is it the fact I like to crack a joke - I could very well attribute that to being around my dad and his brothers who enjoy continually one upping each other into fits of hilarity or even my love and consequent study of Stand up Comedy. I could even pass off my utter lack of co-ordination in any activity that involves a more complicated sequence of movement than putting one foot steadily after the other as bad luck. Or an un-explainable need to save money as pure good sense. No all this doesn't prove anything, I know… So what, I can hear you asking, makes me think I have seemingly un-avoided my heritage?… well the answer is plain and simple - staring you right in the face… or on my face, yep, there is no way the nose I have (slightly off centre) on my face says I'm a cute anglo from unknown origins.. It says, I'm jewish, and I'm proud of it. 

While the other kids were busy searching for lollies on treasure hunts at the odd birthday occasion, I was sniffing them out. When pretty little friends of mine were  being complimented on their beauty I was being asked by the kid next to me whether Pinocchio and I happened to be related. It's a fine nose, don't get me wrong, and when your a picky eater like me has an advantage - only I could find out which milk went into which coffee while I waitressed by sniffing them and handing them to the appropriate, albeit confused, customers. 

After 24 years I have come to except my most prominent feature as in some ways my best.  I've also learnt that when taking photos it's wise to avoid the profile shot. 

So dear bloggers, in this new year - be kind to yourself, love your flaws, accept your heritage and be proud where you come from. 

Until next week :)