Don't Scare The Milkman

Aside from the fact no one has a milkman anymore - which is a sad state of affairs - I do dread the doorbell. I can't buzz people into my flat, I have to go to the big front door and let them in myself. There are a lot of ASOS, Outnet and Sainsburys deliveries, understandably, which I am obviously not going to wig-up for, so they are invariably greeted by a bobble-hatted, browless pyjama monster. I'm still not used to it, but I don't really care that much either. 

My friends on the other hand are a different and slightly more upsetting matter. I have a close circle of trust. Those permitted to see me in all my naked glory (not literally - I mean hairily), are few and specialised. My Mum, Dad, Sister, Dadjokes, Katie and Claire. I even wear a hat to the hospital. This is mostly to spare others, I just don't want to see the metaphorical Milkman Eyes in people I know. All in my head most likely, but you'll know by now what I'm like about the pity thing, so I keep it to a minimum.

Today my lovely friend Gemma sacked off her Sunday in the sun to come and hang out with me. I've been looking forward to this for about 2 weeks, as is the manner with all my (rare) plans, but it wasn't until last night that I realised, since D-day, she has only ever seen me at work, or out. Such is the proficiency of my master beauty skills, she actually has no idea what I look like. This is such a weird concept considering how close we are, but nevertheless, at ten-to-her-arrival time, I feel as if I'm embarking on a blind date.

Should I warn her first? Of course she'll know its me, I live at the correct address after all, I fit that description. But the physical one? Not so much. I don't mean literally of course, but my frame of reference is my 3 year old niece Poppy, who eyeballs me warily whenever she comes round and sees me in another weird hat. 'Auntie Betsy, why are you wearing a hat?' 'Because I'm cold.' 'Ooh, I'm cold too.', so we both sit there like idiots in respective sun and baseball caps. She did just about know I was Auntie Betsy though, but only after close and disconcerting inspection.

In the end I send two blathering texts. 'Honey, don't freak out when you see me, cos I can't be bothered with makeup etc and you won't recognise me.'

then

'And I look like a sick person, so don't be sad either.'

Then I actually felt a bit sick (but I did have chemo less than a week ago), and put my wig on and off twice, before I had a word with myself and realised I am an idiot.

The thing is, I am a sick person, but I'm really quite proud of the camouflage skills I've acquired through work, through Look Good...Feel Better (seriously, if you're going through this, get to a workshop - invaluable). And if I feel like I can't be bothered to keep it up in front of my good friends, then that makes them very good friends, and I'm very happy about that.

Gem texted me back by the way.

'I am coming to see my FRIEND, with or without hair and makeup. Will be with you ASAP xx'

Sometimes you just need to be told.