Unlocking a memory

I have found myself in possession of Marian Keyes' new book. Apparently that sometimes happens when you make a trip to the local bookshop and offer them money. Who knew?

Now, anyone who has read Marian's work will know the nod-and-laugh combo guaranteed to punctuate any sitting with the book. The feeling that this exact scenario has happened to you, but she has explained it so much better than you ever could, and what was once a mortifying moment is now a gleeful giggle of recognition.

I was reading with Littlest asleep in my arms, and was making every effort to keep my chortles in check so as not to wake him. And then, mid-nod, while reading about the horrors of hairy, 5 O'Clock shadow legs, I stopped. Oh. Oh my. A vague inkling of embarrassment, and then I remembered all in a rush. How could I have forgotten?

It was just about a year ago, and I found myself with 3 hours all to myself. Yes, 180 minutes with nary a child (bar the one I was gestating at the time) to be looked after. What would I do with such a luxury? I had a long shower, then breakfast with a book in the local café. After retiling the roof and solving World Hunger I became a bit bored. And I still had over two hours left. So I rang the local beautician to see if I could sort a last-minute leg wax. I explained that I knew I was totally chancing my arm, but I didn't have anywhere to be until 1.30 and could she squeeze me in?

'You need to leave here at half past one? Oh I can sort you out, absolutely! Pop in at ten past one, ok?'

'Oh thanks so much!!'

'No problem at all. Sorry, what's the name now till I write you in?'

'Aisling. Aisling Cahill. Thanks again'

'Oh. Aisling. Right.
...
Eh, lookit you better come in at one o'clock in that case. I'll see you at one, ok?'

And there you have it. It's not my imagination. I'm not simply being unkind to myself. I am, verifiably, FIFTY PERCENT HAIRIER than the other women in the village.
Have I been brave enough to go for another appointment? Not Yeti!