The one thing I am never doing again: Frances Whiting on DIY fail

Anyway, on the “not doing something ever again” front, do you know what I’m never doing again? Reading letters from Alison, obviously, but apart from that? Housework. No, that’s not it either.

Picture: iStock

So, it turns out it wasn’t just the Catholic kids who recited the “Now I lay me down to sleep” prayer each night.

Yes, judging by your many, many letters, you were all at it: Anglicans, Lutherans, Presbyterians, and one woman I won’t name who was very angry with me for mocking the Catholic Church and told me I was going straight to hell.

First of all I was not mocking the Catholic Church, and secondly after I read your letter, I did not go straight to hell, but I did go to Ikea, so you may very well have got your wish after all, Alison.

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Quite a few of you wrote to say that, while you did indeed recite the same prayer as I did, it comforted you, rather than terrified you, which once again taught me never to assume anything.

A couple of you wrote in with your suggestions for my insomnia, including Graham, who has written in before, and who suggested a belt of whiskey, which he has before, and honestly at this stage Graham is just suggesting this remedy for pretty much any occasion.

Another helpful man, Simon, wrote in to explain to me that Buddhists indeed would not have recited this prayer because “they don’t believe in God”.

Thank you, Simon, I did know this, it was a poor attempt at humour, which I will not be doing again. I probably do deserve to go to hell, just like Alison says.

Anyway, on the “not doing something ever again” front, do you know what I’m never doing again? Reading letters from Alison, obviously, but apart from that? Housework. No, that’s not it either.

I am never, ever, ever cutting my own fringe again. Yes, you heard me. Not only did I perform the sacred women’s ritual of thinking: “You know what? I think I could pull off a fringe” every few years, only to discover that no, they couldn’t, I went one further and decided to have a crack at it myself.

Frances Whiting. Picture: David Kelly

By the way, all women at some stage of their lives will try a fringe, usually after seeing a picture of another woman with one playing an electric guitar. No one knows why, but we all do it, it’s like catnip for us, we just can’t resist, despite the fact that we know that once we set foot outside the hairdresser, it will never, ever look like it did inside that salon again.

In there, it looked edgy, wispy, free and easy, didn’t it?

But the moment we step outside, it looks like we are walking about with small awnings shading our eyebrows.

And yet. The other day, at home, I looked in the mirror and thought, “You know what? I think I could pull off a fringe.”

I could have stopped there but no, instead I whipped out a pair of scissors from my bathroom drawer and began to create what cannot be described as anything remotely resembling a fringe.

It can, however, be described as a set of uneven teeth above my forehead. This means I am performing another ritual all women perform post-fringe; pulling it back, and holding it down with as much hair product I can use without destroying the ozone layer.

If you see me about, be kind.

Originally published as The one thing I am never doing again: Frances Whiting on DIY fail