transretrogurl

I did it. Got some sleep last night, dragged my sorry, tired carcass out of bed at 6:00am, hopped on the 8:20 train back to London (I swear my drab arse is the shape of a train seat now), piled across London in a cab and got back to Cindy’s at 9:54, six minutes early.

I had to shave when I got there – drab me grows stubble like grass after a rainstorm, and even though I’d dragged the razor smoothly over my face on Thursday by Saturday morning my face looks like a gorilla’s bottom. Then Cindy did her magic, and for the last nine hours I’ve been trying on frocks and posing like it’s going out of fashion.

Now I’m sat in her living room while she makes up another customer, wearing my jeans and pretty much nothing else, other than a wig cap and a face full of makeup. Plus nails, which is making typing entertainingly difficult. Actually, not difficult, I’ve worked out how to type fast but it hurts. Still, no pain, no gain.

We did some superb looks, I’m still buzzing. Now in downtime for a couple of hours before I, well, go out. Or not, if my confidence crashes.

Thing is this, I want to go out. But I’m also a coward at heart. so, in two minds doesn’t start to describe it. I know I should.

Skip forward to 10:30 and I’m getting dressed to go out…….