I was sat at the dining table this morning simultaneously eating breakfast and applying my make-up.
The 5 year old was sat opposite and we were talking about school, crunchy nut cornflakes and whether the 3 year old would make it upstairs for an emergency poo or not. Fairly standard breakfast discussions round our way.
It was quite pleasant; Supping my tea and shovelling my Weetabix whilst applying mascara.
I wasn’t concentrating on what I was doing (see multi-tasking above) when the 5 year old shouted “Mummy, you have a moustache”. Sure enough when I looked in the mirror, I had some sort of ‘remnant of dark eyeshadow moustache’.
When I said, “No look, it’s just a make-up smudge” and tried to rub it off I simply made it bigger … in the style of a Mexican bandit.
Clearly shocked to see her mother turning into Freddie Mercury before her eyes she shouted “It’s still there. Mummy, you have a big moustache” then got up and wandered off. Probably to tell her father he had married a man.
It was then that I vowed to clear out my make-up bag and get rid of all the half crumbling eye shadows and bits of old eyeliner pencil.
I cleaned myself up and thanked the 5 year old for telling me. I could have quite easily pootled off on the school run and then onto work without being any the wiser. Only last week I went to work and realised that I had, yet again, forgotten to do my hair when I was greeted in the work toilet mirror by a Leo Sayer lookalikey.
It’s OK though, because when I asked the 5 year old, my new image consultant, if she thought I’d ever have a real moustache, she said “No, only people without a house get moustaches”.