Close Encounters of the Third Kind

I mentioned on Friday my leopard print scarf quandary (yes, I know, I need a real problem). I was meeting a potential new client, and wanted to create the appropriate impression.

As it turned out, I could have turned up in a bikini or a tutu and the guy wouldn't have blinked. Or noticed. He was quite extraordinary. Well-groomed to an extent that I find off-putting in a man (or even a woman, really) - suspiciously well-shaped eyebrows, frown-free forehead, shiny skin. As far as impressions go, the first thing this said to me was 'vain'.

We sat down, and he talked at me for half an hour before I managed to say a thing. In that time I heard about the girlfriend who was moving out of his apartment that day because apparently she'd been having an affair; the fact that said nearly-ex-girlfriend was helping herself to his stuff in the process; his opinion of Gen Y and his staff generally; his recent removal of a great deal of 'dead wood' from his employ; and his devotion to spending at least several weeks a year on personal development.

I was trying to describe him to Andrew later, and the best I could manage was that he was a like a motivational speaker on amphetamines.

Wow. I sipped my jasmine tea and nodded and took mental notes. At the end of the hour, he shook my hand, said 'It's been great meeting you, so glad you'll be able to do the work'. I must have missed the part of the conversation that touched on the point of the meeting ...

Saturday Night Fever

Last night the youngest member of the family was off at a sleepover, so it was just the three of us for dinner. The boys were not very helpful when it came to cooking suggestions - Andrew said 'pork'; Holden said 'whatever'.

So I made jambalaya. I haven't made it before but I found a recipe that looked good, so off I went. There may have been a bit too much cayenne for Holden's enjoyment, but Andrew and I both had second helpings (and then I had some for breakfast!). While it was doing its thing on the stove, I also poached some peaches so we had those with ice cream for dessert.

I get really annoyed with the way so much stone fruit is sold unripe - but even nasty hard peaches and nectarines can be delicious poached in a vanilla syrup with a dash of white wine.

Next Saturday night we are hosting a games night. Yes, I know, it's very nerdy, but it's also a very entertaining way to spend an evening with people who also enjoy playing with words. I am trying to come up with a menu - food for about 10 people, that I can prepare in advance and that won't distract everyone too much from the main point of the evening ...

Cat People

I have a meeting with a potential new client later today, so I dressed a little more carefully than usual this morning. Dress, heels, etc. The outfit was looking slightly blah, so I pulled out a leopard print silk scarf and fiddled around with that for a while. Then I took it off and put it back in the wardrobe, because the word 'cougar' suddenly popped into my head.

And now I'm cranky about it. How is it that a tiny bit of animal print - that used to be chic in small doses - now makes me worry that I'll be perceived as some sort of desperate 'older' woman? I know it's entirely in my head, but it would have bothered me all day if I'd worn it.

Should I have worn it anyway or should I save it for times when I'm not trying to make a positive first impression? People who know me wouldn't give two figs if I wore red satin and leather pants (which, rest assured, I haven't done since the mid 90s).

The Women

I was flipping through Charla Krupp's book, How Not to Look Old, the other day (yup, I must have been bored) and apart from getting the strong feeling that we'd all look like ageing Barbies if we followed her advice to the letter (note to CK: I don't LIKE pink lipstick), I did start thinking about maintenance levels ...

I am pretty low maintenance. I have my hair coloured; I paint my toenails (always); I wear minimal makeup but I wear it most days; I care about clothes but don't buy many.

I have a friend who is even lower maintenance. She simply does not wear makeup, doesn't have her hair coloured - and as far as I can tell has no discernible hairstyle. She told me she doesn't understand women who are 'into all that stuff' (was she telling me I'm frivolous?!). Every time I look at her I just get this strong urge to do a makeover - come on, just a little haircut, a couple of highlights, maybe a coat of mascara, some bright red toenails?

I guess what I don't understand is not finding it FUN. Ok, sure, sitting in the hairdresser is one of my least favourite things, but having new hair is a treat. The simple pleasure of buying a new lipstick or painting my toenails a particularly gratifying colour ... all things I get a little kick out of, even if I'm having a bad day.

I wonder, is it something that's dictated by how you grow up? If I run through my close girlfriends in my head, it seems that they all do more or less according to what their mothers did.

I guess that means Phoebe will have fun, occasionally not bother to shave her legs and always always always be looking for the perfect lipstick.

Saturday Night Fever

I confess that I wimped out last night, and instead of cooking something new, I cooked an old favourite that I haven't made for a while. It's what Nigel Slater calls 'coq au riesling' - much like a coq au vin, but with riesling and the addition of cream and parsley at the end. That didn't seem like enough hard work so while it simmered away I made a pear tarte tatin, which I haven't actually done before.

I ate the tarte for breakfast, having eaten way too much chicken & baguette to fit any in last night. It was divine. I really should have taken photos, although it (the tarte but also the whole meal) was 'rustic' rather than pretty.

Andrew looked aghast when he saw the lump of butter (only 100g!?) going into the pan to caramelise the pears, but it didn't stop him having two helpings. Of course, he ran for two hours this morning. I just ate ...

Arsenic and Old Lace

It always seems to happen at this time of year. As the weather FINALLY shows signs of cooling down, I get excited about clothes. One summer, I swear, I will master dressing for hot weather. Do I say this every year? Probably.

Having already bought a leather jacket and some booties, I have now added a lace t-shirt and some dark purple tights to my winter wardrobe. Yeah, ok, maybe I'm not going to wear them all together - it sounds a bit Stevie Nicks, doesn't it!?

See those pockets on the t-shirt? Why? No, really. In case I decide to wear it without a bra?! Puh-lease. They will be removed as soon as the t-shirt arrives.

Zoolander

OK, I know there are plenty of smart models out there, but the ones we get in this studio are definitely not the 'really I'm in Mensa and I could have studied law if I weren't so damn skinny and beautiful' variety.

The things they say, while swigging Diet Coke and chain-smoking on the verandah, are enough to make me do the nose thing with my jasmine tea. For instance, did you know that cutting four inches off your hair makes it grow more slowly? Really.

But this morning's prize goes to the girl who declared to the stylist that she doesn't understand why she can't migrate here on educational grounds because 'I don't have a university degree but I have a high school degree'. Last I heard we were really crying out for high school graduates ...