Back in the day when I was married to Flitwick, we lived near one of the nicest little shopping centres in South Auckland. Over the years things changed and the discount stores moved in (and Flitwick moved out). With English as my first language, it was initially a little disconcerting trying to make myself understood in these shops. Now the entire local mall is made up of these stores - mostly selling the same items - but it doesn't seem to bother me so much now. Of course I rubbish them and their stock if I'm in posh company, but as a gatherer and hoarder of dressup clothes I've found them great for stocking up my wig collection.
But it goes even deeper. I have a great admiration for the people working long hours in these places. I love the "Chinglish" instructions on the products. No-one can keep a straight face after reading: "When old man's child go up hand ladder temporary need the family to accompany". There have been times when I've been tempted to buy something just for the entertainment on the package.
Best of all, I love their ingenuity. I have a Chinese friend who seems to have a gadget for everything, "making her life better simpler and more relief from the mistery of existence" (whatever that means!). So even though I know that I won't find anything of great quality there, when I do the circuit of the mall on my day off I go in with an attitude that I might just find something in there that will change my life forever.
|This has been cool. Don't have to set the cutlery on the table anymore. Everyone just grabs their own. Only $3.90.|
|I never had any place for that blasted egg beater before. It was always jamming the drawers and the tea towel was always getting dropped on the floor. Problem solved for two bucks!|
One day I saw something in there that seemed a bit risky but I just had to give it a try. All my life I've had fine, frizzy hair that never seems to grow past my chin. I've longed to tie it back but only seem to end up with a little tuft of candy floss sticking out of the hairtie. A couple of years ago I even shaved it all off - completely bald! It was all in a good cause though and my friends donated over $800 to the Leukaemia and Blood Foundation. So anyway...there were these scrunchies with fake hair attached!!! It all looked a bit dodgy to be honest. The shine was ridiculous and fake but being the arty farty type I could sense possibility in the (h)air. So I bought two of each colour (cheap as chips!). I washed them repeatedly and roughed them up a bit. I just imagined I was mad with them and gave them a good battering.
|I can be brunette|
|Or I can be blonde|
"Miss! You're wearing fake hair!"
"Shhhhh! Do your Maths Molly!"
"Who's wearing fake hair?"
"Shhhh! Get back to work Lennie!!"
"Is your hair fake Miss?" *tweaking my fringe!*
"No it's not and stop tagging in your book!"
Teacher wanders over to investigate and reaches for the piece - only narrowly missing thanks to my deft ability to duck.
...and so it went on for the rest of the Maths period. Now I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. If I wear my piece, 9VG will continue to be suspicious. If I don't wear it, everyone else will wonder where the rest of my hair is. I've become the female version of the the HOD of Tech who wears a rug! I had a dream about him once...