I had 10 min to get ready for a costume fitting. Pristine underwear yes, deodorant yes, hairline ugh. The ginger coalition of dissidents were escaping over the cotton line and there was no way I had time to jump in the shower and remove the curly bastards I mean beauties. I scrabbled through my oversized bag of medicinal supplies and found a razor that still had its cap on.
Three days later, I was SO glad Glands and Seabum had collaborated to provide me with another batch of fiery vibrissa. As one tiny follicle pushed through my skin to meet the sun SHE defected, burying her head back down. NO. She cried out. No, please. Not the light. It's too bright, close the curtains. Please. Please. Please. She became red with embarrassment and rage for treating her so unfairly. She was hurting inside and then without me knowing, went and met the undies who met the crease who met the skin who met the sweat, who met the jeans. She sobbed all over all of them. Wetfaced and weary I ran myself a salt bath. I lay there for a bit, poked, squeezed, swore and eventually yielded. I couldn't see her for the life of me. I'd turned this way and that, inside out and back to front, tidal waves crashing over the sides onto the laminate floor.
AHHHHHH!!!!!! HEALED. She had been appeased. Google suggested Tea-Tree Oil, so the following morning I went in search of the chemmeister and anointed myself. Thanks be to.. nooooooooo. SHE'S still here. Keeping shelter under my thicket. Small, but not SO small, and swelling with each passing moment. 3 weeks had gone by since the the unfortunate dry quickie and when I finally agreed to look, I doubled over (more of an up and down double take then the more traditional side to side one) and gasped. It was much bigger than what it had been. A giant third labia. A mound, a mountain, and I was starting to feeling unwell. To the DOCTORS I say, to get an occidental opinion.
'You have an infection' she stated and pronounced me unwell. 'Here take this very strong dose of antibiotics and if that doesn't work we shall have to look into doing a procedure.'
Holy hell. How did I get here... I just didn't want my ginger pubes on display for the costume madam and audience to witness. Is that so wrong? As I sit here, feeling quite poorly, drugged up on something that kills both HER and everything else, because for shame, they might think that I'm unhygienic? That I don't take pride? That it's ugly? That I'm not like them? That, that, that- as soon as I articulate anything, it sounds ridiculous and I mean none of it and all of it at the same time? I am a woman, an actor with a beautiful fiery mane. Yes! An exquisite auburn coat. Yes! Lady Trail, Happy Garden, Landing Strip of Softness, Silky Forrest, Red Squirrel Tail, Kate Bush, Wonderful, wonderful yes, viva to my hairy locks!
Oh and next time-
don't dry shave.
Exercise is essential for actors. We require lung capacity, fantastic reflexes, supple necks (head rolls, quick turns, deep in thought downwards trajectories, upwards stargazing chin spasms- all crucial). However, please note Zumba in ones bedroom is not suitable for an acting showreel.
Mmmm... sun is out, yogurt and fruit, run in the park- wait you would like to cook me breakfast while I work on some lines? I won't say no.
For breakfast I eat cornish sea salt, locally made gluten-free rye, home made hollandaise - whisked to perfection, Brown eggs smoked in sustainable and foraged seasonal grasses. The coffee is single bean from a place where they speak Arabic and accompanied by Jus d'orange- a southern french import. I do hope they sort it out soon so I don't have to feel bad about the Jus travelling all that way. I was told oranges will be available during English winters soon... Looking forward.
LUNCH is Bloody hell already? I mean Bloody Mary Queen of Scots it's time for the next round. Roast loin of beef bred from the ruby red heifer care of the trucks from Devon, potatoes in goose fat because fat of geese tastes better, organic BLACK kale don't even start me on the budding baby flower kale and heritage carrots with the leaves on... clotted cream and the mess of an eton school grad, and goodness i forgot about the porkling entree and soup of creme that I devoured right after bloody Mary. The lunch washed down with Mainland ciders and stomach skin starting to stretch and stretch.
Dinner. We'll just have ALL of the starters, the hair of lapin, and breast of quail, strings of marsh heather and eyes of newt coupled all with reds from Barossa and Sardinia and Mendoza and Bordeaux, a chest that heaves under the weight of digestion, armpits wet with effort, the cotton but thank god it's not cotton only viscose and acrylic and two pounds so I can throw it away if it comes to that... fashion made for... Ohhhhhhhhh WOOOEEEE is me, I spied the CCTV, the arsehole in the corner. His piercing arrogance, his matter of fact visage, his pointed gaze. MY GOD, what happened to my legs, I look frankly enormous (frankfurts aside) and my arms wobble in a mesmerising slow motion fat cascade as I pretend to wave goodbye to my lover. I mean REALLY. No one wants to see that, it completely distracts you from the protagonists plight, their emotional journey reminding you oh shit- I forgot the chicken in the oven.....bbbbbbbbrrrk.
Did I mention the oyster martinis and the surprise jerk and the sushi prepared with delicate expediency. Supper calls. And don't get me wrong, I am NOT complaining. All this line learning, and audition stress is getting me down and I need to EAT. And who gives a toss if I am not the pretty skinny lead anymore but the pudgy best friend. Your casting changes. It shifts and it totally makes me more versatile?. I can be the pretty pudgy girl. The one who likes to have her cake and eat it too? Sooo. When your wardrobe shrinks to half of what it is... and your backflab bends and twists in rivulets when you try to look at your reflected bottom (yes women do that- YOU have to know before the cameraman does duh) then it makes you think- maybe dating a chef is perhaps not the best way forward in this caper... but it tastes so good. Is the industry and food compatible? Absolutely NOT.
Glass of champagne anyone?