Fugly days

Do you ever have days when you just wake up ugly?
Now I'm no stunner by any means - I'm just about passable with my make up on and hair brushed but there seem to be days when the world conspires against you make you feel as fugly as possible. (And fugly = f***ing ugly, for those who don't know).

Today is one such day. I'm retaining water. That's a pleasant way to described "feeling fatter than a fatty on a fat day". All this is not helped by the boy piping up with "Mammy, your belly is fatter than Santa's, ha ha ha ha ha".
Yes, ha fecking ha.
So I slip into my work clothes and set about painting on my face, except I'm having one of those days where my skin can not decide if it wants to be greasy or dry so I have a patchy look at best.
My hair seemed to behave when I brushed it, but by the time I reached the car and looked in the rear view mirror it had morphed into Wurzel Gummidge's mop.
I also became keenly aware that there is a smattering of grey at the temples and that my eyebrows are in dire need of some attention with hot wax.

After a couple of hard weeks on the keyboard trying to reach the 80,000 mark of book three before I go on my holliers my nails are also broken, battered and abused. Oh, for a parafin wax manicure.
And I have a cold, so am sniffing in a tres unattractive manner.

Oh dear.