An experiment...

All I can think of is of slut-red raspberries in champagne jelly every time I look down at my hands. But it's growing on me.

I can't wait for the weekend to begin!

Only a month ago I was griping at the lack of pampering in my life. Since then, I've set in motion a beautifying (well, sorta) programme of unseen proportions. Yesterday, the mani/pedi appointment finally happened (mercifully!).
Result below.

I wanted some ferociously fake nails of Barbra Streisand proportions, but got myself a French manicure instead... because it looks so fabulously fake and it didn't involve having portions of one's own nails filed off. I understand the concept of 'il faut souffrir pour être belle', but my pain threshold is notoriously low.

Sunday the hairdresser arrives at 9 am to start a marathon cutting session of all three ladies in this household, during which several centimetres will be cut away to reveal eyes, faces, and other body parts... My SO has finally consented to a layered cut (she has approx. 50 cm of blondness to contend with on a daily basis)!

Ah, at least we haven't hit the gym yet like all those other annoying people with New Year's resolutions ;-)

Sorry for releasing my inner femme on you!

Song of the day (sorry, haven't figured out to stream music in blogger yet):