It’s a strange and recent phenomenon that heroines in books are often slightly clumsy (yeah, I’m looking at you Twilight but you’re not the only culprit here) and that their clumsiness is charming, endearing – even slightly attractive. As is so often the case, life does not imitate art. And I don’t mean the whole beautiful-people-are-really-vampires thing (although clearly....). The other day I woke up – slightly later than my alarm had gone off – with a compelling urge to use a box of root cover-up on my hair. I can’t say I really needed it – it was more that it was taking up room in the cupboard. I mixed it up, dunked the brush in the dye and... flipped the entire content of the auburn dye all over the carpet. A lot of it fell in my slipper (a chocolate brown ballet pump, so no big drama) but a large dollop and a fetching series of splatters fell on the gold colour carpet. Now, it may be like hair and it will fade out completely over the next 6 weeks – but somehow I doubt it. Attempts to clear it up seemed to just give a halo effect to the larger, darker splotches.
The carpet is old and needs replacing but this is not the way I would have chosen the time to do this (especially as it’s a carpet that goes throughout the flat). And curiously, bf categorically did not find it charming, endearing or remotely attractive. He did not chuckle and hug me, he did not become protective at my inate whimsicaly girliness - he just wondered why I hadn’t put down an old towel. In retrospect I wondered that too. Our Saturday is going to be spent, stressfully, in a very small en suite attempting to take up carpet and lay floor tiles. And I have very dubious DIY genes and a tendency to panic and bf has a tendency to irritation (although also luckily is super-practical).
Btw, carpet in a bathroom is lunacy. We didn’t put it there, the developers did. I'm directing my hate towards them.