As a parent, many of you will be aware of how little time we have to really take time out of the normal slog of life and pamper ourselves. Much of the time is spent ferrying our children to various activities. Energy is used hollering and shouting at them to do their homework, tidy their room, stop the fighting, turn down the music. Just sorting out the tidying of bedrooms normally uses a serious amount of energy, what with all that threatening and hollering and waving of the Hoover stick in their faces. To say that I am a lucky mother in terms of how disgusting their rooms are not is certainly a privilege. As I will not allow vermin in any shape or form to reside in my habit. On occasion, I may offer my boys a little advice as to how to keep their rooms habitable. They may rant and rage about not wanting to tidy up, but I won’t bow or bend to their whims and do their rooms for them.

I have often watched television talk shows where mothers are stupid enough to show themselves up on national tv by admitting that they feel defeated when it comes to getting their kids to tidy their rooms. I have often been left disgusted when I hear them talk about the state of their children’s room. (Send them back to the West Indies, my mind would usually holler – cause there’s no way any slum could dwell in a household out there). Often times I have pondered what I would do if I were in the position of these particular mothers. Could I force myself to venture to tidy my children’s’ bedrooms as surely I would have to be vaccinated beforehand. As always these women are even more stupid to let cameras into their places of abode to show the state of their infected habitats. (um..did you give birth or did you have a lobotomy? – no camera will be venturing into my place unless I’m being offered a total refurbishment with swimming pool) Often these rooms resemble a tramp’s secret hide-away and forbid you ever took the authority to detox their room, you might be mildly surprised to find the amount of vermin which had taken up residence in the most awkward of places.

I digressed slightly, but my point’s been made. Anyway, other than the usual housework and other numerous jobs we as parents have on our list the thought of finding the time to treat ourselves is a privilege in itself. The nearest I get to anything like this is to grab a quick dip in a bath of luke-warm water at some crazy hour of the morning. This is because the kids were usually securely tucked away and in the land of nod. The indulgence therefore would lie in the fact that there would be no knocking on the bathroom door, to talk to mummy about what they had for lunch at school that day or to tell me that they wanted to spend “quality time with me” – (not at 1am in the morning you’re not).

I've been planning to treat myself to one of those really luxurious pampering weekends for the longest of times now. The difficulty I have here, though, is where does one get the confidence and spare money to enter such exotic establishments looking the way I do. Being a housewife and mother does not necessarily put me in the most elegant of categories. Dressing in jeans and tee-shirts, with cellulite hanging off my chin like a beard, dark circles decorating my eye area and a pair of legs that had seen better days on a cockerel – I doubt very much if I would’ve been let into any professional establishment. The only place that would readily accept me would be the slaughter house on a ranch out-back in Australia. I also realised that I would probably have to sell the husband on the black market in order to finance this rather "rich" treat, as generally any extra income would go on extra food for my two fast growing boys. But I was resolute, the time had come for me to have “Me time” and no-one was going to stop me – not even the cellulite and obscene amount of body hair that covered my body.

In the past I'd used a plethora of excuses for not treating myself. Embarrassment was high on my list. Finances was also a major factor and then their was the rather more obvious fact that my rather wayward body had decided to spread its wicked self in a rather awkward and horizontal position. So one day, after a bad night in front of the mirror, and an endless amount of pouring of tears, whimpering and screeches of “oh my god, oh nooo, where on earth did that grow from”, I decided there and then to do something about the state of my body. Liposuction was no longer an option, the situation was serious. I then decided to go for it, and to venture on the road of self-rehabilitation. Surely, if I did not take the opportunity now to tidy myself up I could well imagine the following scenario in years to come. …………….

THE YEAR 2050

I'd be found in Mista Braffet’s Sanctuary for De Helderly. At 80 years old, I’d two teeth less of totally gumless, bald as a baboon’s butt and laughing and rocking wildly in a chair, minus all body hair. I can well imagine what you all must be thinking. Minus all body hair aye? - what sort of decaying pervert was she? Ok, explanation due. The cause for lack of body hair would stem from the fact that I was too cheap and busy with my boring miserable life to pay a visit to a professional beauty parlour and any form of pampering had been administered by “Moi” Madam Scrooge. Therefore over the years I had proceeded to do a home job on myself with a match, a couple of pain killers and a plank of wood wedged in my mouth. To say waxing would’ve been a much more pleasant and painless experience is an understatement.

BUT BACK TO THE PRESENT

There were many things I would have to consider before I could even contemplate venturing into any sort of health and beauty establishment. First and foremost, I would need to get rid of the excess amount of body hair which covered 90% of my physic. It had been a long time since I had shaved and if I remember correctly, the last time I did this with a manual shaver, I almost lost an arm-pit. So the shaving thing had stopped for a while. I even remember the times when I used to sit and twist the hairs up my nose for hours on end, during school holidays as I immersed myself in Mills and Boons and Barbara Cartland books.

Anyway, I began to hallucinate about my pending trip, I fervently hoped that the adults who would be serving me and looking after my every need would be really nice people. I hoped that they would not be quite so mean and that I would be able to walk into a Beauty Parlour, smile, strip off and the hair thing would not be a problem.

But hey ladies, this year is ME year so it's time to be daring and positive. I may even get my eyebrows plucked until they are like…all gone. Might even draw them back on with a coloured crayon. Yep, draw them back on a totally different plane, say from the tip of your ear to about 5inches above your eyebrows. I've seen it done by many women and they carry themselves as if they are really "sexy". To be quite honest they generally resemble something out of Star Trek, but it seems to pull the guys. Knowing my luck I'll attract a member of the male species and be cursed to spend the next twenty years sharing a cardboard box with a tramp under Charing Cross bridge with a couple of rats and beer bottles. And my pet name would be "Brow Babe", so maybe I’ll leave the eyebrow thing alone.

So I think I'll go pack myself a weekend bag, book myself into a 5 star Hotel somewhere on the other side of England and have a thoroughly good pamper. The kids are now at an age where thy can survive on beans and toast until I decide to grace them with my presence and who knows, I might just get a little adventurous and get a shot of botox in my lips.

Taken from Laugh at Life with Me (Some More ) – From a Little Bajan Woman’s Perspective ISBN: 0-9545918-1-x Esther Austin ãAll Rights Reserved May 2002

About Author :
Esther Austin is in her late thirties and is of Barbadian parentage. She is a published author of comedy, poetry and inspirational books, published under Think Doctor Publications Ltd. She is website Director of www.caribbeanwoman.co.uk. She has two boys, lives in London and loves going to the theatre, loves writing, eating out, playing football, and generally being physically active.