What do you think this picture is ?

A - Woman promoting a relaxing seaweed bath

B - Evidence in a CSI case

Normal blogging should resume next week - hopefully………
HUGE Dr McRide issues for the last few weeks which has proving mega distracting

Well I have been a bit rubbish at the blogging recently, but I do have a good excuse. I am yet again between jobs. Due to the current ‘downcline’ and approaching summer getting a new consultancy role is proving difficult. If I don’t get one soon I will end up being unemployed for the summer. Although the timing might be good, if the weather is decent, I don’t think the social welfare officer will look kindly on subsidising my two bed penthouse.

So I have been desperately pitching for new business to lots of dusty old men who say things like;

“aren’t you a ‘great girl’, running your own business – do you work all on your own?”

Which roughly translates as;

“Is there anyone with a Penis involved or is it just you and your Vagina?”

Last Thursday I was meeting a new contact and was expecting the usual interaction - as above. I approached various stuffy suits in the reception area of the ‘Four Seasons’ enquiring if they were Mr X when this absolute RIDE comes up an introduces himself as my contact! It took me few minutes to compose myself.

We had the usual ‘cup of coffee and pitch’. All was going well until I very foolishly decided to consume the little chocolate square provided with my tea. As I put it delicately and hopefully suggestively in my mouth, one part hit my gob, one part stayed in my hand and the third did a free dive down the center of my white V neck top. Instant conversation killer.

Had I been wearing a dark top I might have let it melt and carry on regardless, but I had another meeting afterwards and couldn’t show up with chocolate marks across my tits – doesn’t really send out the right professional message – well it may send out a professional message but not the one I want.

The silence was becoming very painful when eventually Mr X said,

“Normally I’d offer to retrieve lost objects, but you might want to look after this one yourself – excuse me while I make a quick call”

The second he turned away I dived down the front of my top and retrieved the errant piece of chocolate, while mopping up the remains with a paper coaster – much to the horror of the ladies who afternoon tea. Unsurprisingly I didn’t get the contract. Who would have thought chocolate could be such a deal breaker?

Long before Soduku came of age people would read ‘Ireland’s Own’ magazine and ponder over extreme close up photos of objects and suggest what they might be. No matter how exotic the answers like Space Ship or Volcano ( where ‘Ireland’s Own’ would have gone pictures of those in the 70’s is beyond me ) the solution was inevitably something more bland like a milk bottle top. Proving that sometimes life is a question of perspective – as I learnt this weekend – the hard way.

Out of boredom and curiosity I decided to get my bikini line Lasered. Why I would spend time and money on such a neglected area of my anatomy is puzzling, but to paraphrase Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams – “If I cut it, they might come”.

Now the beauty therapist gave me very clear instructions on what I needed to do prior to my first session; the night before I was to have a hot bath and shave the intended area into the desired pattern – how hard could that be? To settle my nerves before tackling the area with a sharp implement ( insert own joke about blunt ones ) I had a glass of wine – or 10. By the end of the night I was too cut to cut and instead decided to wait until morning. The next day hungover and late I attempted the job.

In the shower I made the appropriate motions with the Razor and although Pythagoras may not have vouched for the integrity, it seemed fairly decent to me, until I saw the therapist’s face an hour later – it was a cross between horror and awe. Unsure of what the etiquette is in these situations, maybe that is the correct expression, I questioned if everything was ok – down there.

“Is that the shape you want” - Therapist

“Yes I think so – why?” me, wondering if I should have gone for something more exotic - like a Dolphin.

“Well it’s a little unusual” - Therapist

“Really, I thought it was pretty standard?” - me, instantly abandoning the Dolphin idea

“Perhaps you want to look at it again - from this angle” - Therapist

She kindly offered me a hand mirror and left the room. The reason for her facial expression became very clear – from the Australian perspective my Brazilian looked like a passport stamp for no entry – X marks the spot so to speak.

When she returned we discussed the logistics of the issue, based on what we had to work with, and agreed on a more postage stamp shape – thank God I don’t have dark hair or it would have been all very 3rd Reich.

A few hours later I was bemoaning my experience to ‘Lady M’ over lunch, with a much needed glass of wine. She very helpfully pointed out that I should have gone for the “X” option so, I could have offered blokes the intriguing option of………..

“Humping for Treasure”

I would say she had a point, but I’m a little shape adverse at the moment.

A little confusion on my last post - not unusual. The birthday was actually not mine, ( I am still clinging to my mid 30’s for dear life) but rather a friend known as ‘The Devil Hunter’, so called for her criteria for finding a man, which revolves around three 6’s:

6 figure salary
Over 6 ft
Owns house in or near Dublin 6

(he also has to be good looking, funny, generous, thoughtful and faithful)

Most crucially he must challenge her. I have tried on numerous occassions to tactfully point out that finding such a a man is the challenge enough. Even if he did exist, I’m guessing that he will be aiming for someone a little younger, who isn’t reproductively challenged, with a 36 – 26 – 36 figure and an IQ less than the sum of her parts.

I can understand why some blokes, particularly the successful ones, don’t want a challenging career women. These guys spend most of their days at work ensuring that they are the shafter not the shaftee. After a day of that who wants to come home and hear about their partners corporate woes? Wash away the new man’s ‘Nivea Visage Skin Repair Cream’ and you’ll find a guy who longs to come home to a clean house, dinner that doesn’t end with a ping, served by someone who isn’t wearing fleece jim jams and slippers, because they’ve been stuck in a suit and heels all day. You can cry foul all you want but it is no co-incidence that all the girls that I know who have married well are teachers or similar while all the uber career women are resolutely single.

Perhaps it is time to give up the Chick lit dream of having it all - if it were possible the genre would be listed under non-fiction and probably not sell as well. Accept the independence and challenge that a successful career offers you, but appreciate it can come with a personal price. After all, if your job is really that fulfilling and takes the bulk of your time and energy then you probably don’t want or need a man anyway.