My, it’s been a wet, windy week!!
The mere mention of that word ‘windy’ makes me smile, because, as children, that was the term we used for ‘passing wind’. Never mind ‘fart’, the word ‘windy’ was used in our house. Whether they were silent and deadly, loud and airy, or even the ones that sounded like a motorbike engine, which usually meant you really needed to hurry to the toilet, they were called ‘a windy’. My grandchildren fondly called them ‘windy pops’ when they were younger with the aul trusty ‘fart’ being more hip, once they’d reached a certain age. However, on this occasion, I’m referring to the actual elements, the wind and the rain.
I have nearly been blown over, once or twice in this past week but once the gusts blow off that aul rain, I don’t mind so much, I’d rather be blown down the road, than have to swim home. All well and good for the ducks but for us mere mortals, that wet stuff can be soul destroying.
While wind can be refreshing, depending on the time of year and its force, it can play havoc with our hair. I had just had my colour done, one day last week, with a nice cut ‘n’ blow dry to boot, when I left the hair salon to make my way to my car. This particular salon trip was in aid of a Christmas get together, where all and sundry were making that extra special effort, that is the norm for this festive time of year and I was no exception. I looked in the mirror, from my seat in the salon, so pleased with the freshly curled locks looking back at me, the sheen on my hair shining through and the sparkle in my eyes, showing the delight at the result of the hairdresser’s efforts. Thanking her, both verbally and monetarily, catching a last glimpse in one of the mirrors, I smiled, whilst opening the salon door, in an attempt to leave. Catching my breath at the sudden onslaught of wind and heavy rain, I hastily shut it again. Hesitant to walk out into the stormy weather, nevertheless I reached into my handbag for my bargain brolly, recently purchased in Poundland. Safe in the knowledge that it might not survive its first outing, forging on, I pushed the metal valve on the handle upwards, to open the umbrella, whilst pulling the salon door ajar again. Brolly first, I stepped out to brave the elements.
Well, Holy Mary Mother of God, the force of the wind nearly knocked me over and thank heavens for my cheap brolly. If it had been an expensive one, as soon as it had been fully open, I would have been doing an impression of Mary Poppins, flying up into the darkened sky, albeit without her magic bag. Instead, my Poundland special crumpled almost immediately and I threw it into a nearby bin, hastening towards my car, handbag over head in an attempt to protect the carefully coiffured crown. My vehicle, which I had parked conveniently close to the salon, now seemed to be a million miles away, as I battled against the velocity of the gale that was blowing so strongly, while heavy rain assaulted me with little or no shame.
Eventually, reaching my trusty red auto, grateful for the bright colour, visible through the rain, I flicked the remote to unlock my car. After two valiant attempts to pull open the door, it was third time lucky, as, in between gusts, I managed to hold it back long enough to get inside, before the next one banged it shut. Shrugging off my now soaking coat, I threw it on the passenger seat, then dared to look in the rear view mirror to see what damage had been done to my lustrous locks. Shock, horror, dismay, all struck at once, as the vision that met me was more like soggy cat fur plonked on my head. My beautiful hairdo, painstakingly coloured, cut and styled over a number of hours, had been destroyed, in the space of minutes. I was absolutely gutted!
However, tending to be an optimistic aul one, the glass always half full ‘n’ all that, especially if it contains bacardi, I found the positive in the situation. Sure the colour hadn’t washed out, wasn’t it a permanent one, it’d be grand! I would just have to do a DIY job and sure I had a nice dress to wear, I’d just put my hair up!
Some hours and more windy battles later, I arrived at the Christmas get together with freshly washed, highlighted hair, not as glorious or curly as it had appeared in the salon, but a few hair clips had shaped a nice upstyle and I was content with that. The wind and rain had died down, of course it had, sure wasn’t it sod’s law (whoever ‘sod’ may be…a feckin miserable sod that day). I had a wonderful night, having chosen a turkey dinner, which included my aul favourites, brussel sprouts and thankfully sod’s law took a backseat for the rest of the evening, as the requisite passing of wind which often follows intake of these particular vegetables, didn’t happen. So, I enjoyed my evening without further incident, windy, or otherwise.
However, the wet windy week wasn’t over yet. The elements and powers that be, still had plans for me in that department. The following morning I had a doctor’s appointment and was a bit anxious to say the least as I made my way there. Sitting in the spacious waiting area, with only three other patients, perched miles apart from each other, I wasn’t able to have a chat, which would usually calm me, being a lady of constant verbal activity. Feeling a little parched, I spotted the water fountain. ‘Great’, I thought, I could quench my thirst while waiting to be called by the doctor. Rising awkwardly from my chair, I made my way to the fountain and pressed the required button, while simultaneously tilting my head, mouth wide open, tongue slightly extended, a little way from the spout. WHOOOSH, splash, sprinkle, the water sprayed all over my face, dripping down my glasses and with it, went my anxiety, literally washed away. I chuckled, likely loudly, as I’m not prone to doing anything quietly and walked back to my seat, removing the specs as I went, wiping both the lenses and my face with the sleeve of my jumper.
Having settled back in the seat, I sneaked a look around to see if anyone had noticed but the other patients appeared to be engrossed in their own thoughts. They were likely as anxious as I had been, maybe I should have offered to stand by the water fountain and invite all worried patients for an anxiety rinse, even provide face cloths to dry themselves. Or not!!!
Just then the doctor came out of his room at the end of a lengthy corridor, called my name and walked back in. It was time to get the consultation over with, before I needed a second visit to the stress releasing fountain.
Rising from the seat again, less awkwardly this time, grabbing my coat and bag, I walked across the silent waiting area, feeling all eyes upon me, including the receptionist’s. As I did so, I coughed nervously, while simultaneously, to my utter horror, passing wind, loudly from my ample behind. Call it a windy, windy pop, even a fart, out it came, as I felt the colour flush my cheeks with embarrassment. While I was grateful to be facing away from my awestruck audience, this position also meant that they got the full force of both the sound and likely, the odour, that escaped from my botty. Having the presence of mind to apologise, I murmured an embarrassed ‘Oops, pardon me’, whilst looking firmly straight ahead and continued along the corridor, covering my mouth, to suppress the laughter escaping right from my belly, all anxiety long forgotten.
After a positive consultation with my lovely GP, I had to do the walk of shame, strolling the length of that long passageway, in the direction of my earlier audience. One of the patients in the waiting area was directly in my line of sight, very obviously trying to conceal her own amusement and I thanked the Lord that there was no need to go to the reception desk, to make a follow up appointment. Edging quietly and deftly towards the exit, I uttered a muted version of my usual loud ‘thank you’ as I walked out to the familiar stormy weather, pulled my hood over my head, howled with laughter and said very loudly into the accommodating wind…..’FECKIN BRUSSEL SPROUTS!!!’