Seriously, Where is my fairy godmother???????

I am so tired today, I can't think. I have played 7 games of netball this week. And while those who play with me might quibble with my use of the word 'play' (some might consider that you actually have to run to constitute playing), I am shagged. My legs hurt, my arms hurt, my foot hurts. Basically, I am a giant whinger. My lips are cracked, my skin is blotchy (I remember not to many months ago asking: what do the mean when they say blotchy skin - I never get that) and I'm pretty much falling apart.

I am supposed to be doing chat, for school, but I don't think I can think clearly enough to articulate lucid ideas. Certainly not about Governor Arnold and how I feel about that. So instead, I'm writing here about:

WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO WITH MY HAIR????

I have a dress I don't want to wear. Shoes I don't like, and I can't think of anything to do with my hair or my makeup. It's official. I'm pathetic.

So, any ideas of what to do with my hair - other than straighten it - I don't have that kind of time, or the strength in my upper body to actually physically pull out the curls - feel free to email me. There's the curly up do. The curly 'down' do. Or the paper bag over the head. Actually, that could have been this weeks poll.

The good thing is this post officially establishes I'm a girl. Do boys actually think about this stuff? I know they might think about what to wear, but does it cause them to burst out in a computer room - "I need to pluck my eyebrows" like I just did? Do they think about which handbag to take, and whether it matches their dress? And whether their camera and money and lip gloss (oh God, lip gloss, that's another decision) and keys and myriad other things will fit in the dinky little evening purse. Thank God my mobile phone is small.

These are the decisions that have been made: I know what necklace I'm going to wear (Bells, it's that one I bought in Welly, the spiky purple one - that I wore to dinner at that flash place we got really bad service at that I can't remember the name of). I know that i will probably end up wearing my ball dress, if only because i can't think of anything else to wear. I will get someone to do my eyebrows, cos I'm too much of a wimp to do my own. And I will probably use the little pink handbag I have.

At leat I get to go to the ball. And don't have to clean anyone's hearth to get there - I'm not Cinderella, so I guess I shouldn't be waiting for a fairy Godmother. I don't even have step-siblings.

Now it's time to go home and eat some toast and whine about how tired I am. Have a hapy weekend.