There are so many little things in life that keep me guessing.
Why? That’s all I want to know, just why? They are the most trivial of life’s little mysteries and I just want answers. But, alas, I fear I won’t be getting any.
Why I ask do you often see only one shoe, or one trainer discarded at the side of the road? Just a solitary, lonely piece of footwear lay strewn in the middle of the road or nestled up beside the kerb. Where is its partner? Where is its owner? Why is it there?
How do your eyelashes and eyebrows know when to stop growing? Why don’t they carry on just like your hair? How does it know it’s long enough? Why does this happen?
Why is it, I will spend a small fortune on getting my hair cut, coloured and coiffed to perfection. Then, when I try to recreate that sleek, styled look myself it’s nothing short of hair disaster. It’s frizzy, it won’t stay up and it just looks like a five-year-old has been playing Girl’s World on it. Why can’t I do it? Why won’t the products work on my locks?
Why do I decide to take a trip round the shops in my lunch break, two days before pay day? I see those killer heels and try them on. Perfect. They make my legs look as long as Gisele’s. I spy a gorgeous dress which fits like a glove. The wait seems never ending but my cash-boost day arrives and I practically skip into the shop looking like the cat who got the cream. I brandish the shoe aloft in the sale assistant’s face and wait patiently and nervously for her to return from ‘out the back’. “Sorry,” she says, completely disinterested and oblivious to the importance of the matter. “We haven’t got them in your size.”
Whaaat!? Breathe, that’s okay there’s still the dress. I head off to find my treasure and scour the rails. Not in my size. Why? Why does this happen?
I’m on a mission. I hurriedly go back to my desk and search online (it’s still my lunch hour, honest). Three little words appear. But they are not nice ones. Out. Of. Stock. Why? That’s okay an emergency visit to the shopping centre will sort it. Nope. Nothing. Money is burning a hole in my pocket and not a thing catches my eye. Why? It has to be those shoes and that dress. Why can’t I have them?
Why do I think popping out to the shop quickly after a lazy day of slobbing on the sofa is a good idea. I’m in my comfy joggers, tatty trainers and slouchy chocolate-smeared top. My hair is scrunched up on my head messily, not a jot of make-up on and there’s an eruption of spots on my chin. Ah I won’t bump into anyone. Oh but I do. Why? And, it’s the ex. I try to scurry away mumbling my excuses then his uber glamorous girlfriend steps out from behind him. Joy. I scuttle home, my face flaming with shame. I look in the mirror to assess how offensive I look. Then I discover not only the volcanic chain on my face but a crusty blob of tomato ketchup on my cheek. Gorgeous. Why did this happen?
The little mysteries don’t end there. Why when I call my boyfriend on his mobile phone, do I always, always, every single time say, “hi it’s me”. Why? He knows this, my name comes up on the screen. So why?
Why does my mum always phone me when I’m just about to step in the shower or eat my tea and say, “just a quick word”, and 20 minutes later she’s still chatting away. Why mum, why? (I don’t really mind mum).
When I go out for a run it’s all going great, I feel on top of the world. Then at the furthest point from home, I need the loo. I’ve got to go. I’m desperate. But the park toilets are locked, there is not a bush in sight and I am frankly miles from a toilet. Sob. Why?
And, I suspect the older I get, more and more of life’s mysteries will puzzle me. Why? Well I’ve got an answer for that. I just don’t know.