PRIMPED AND PAMPERED A royally relaxed and gorgeously glamorous Áine Ryan pictured in Petals after her top-to-toe make-over.
Áine Ryan
Like, how can you fast-track growing your nails? I mean, I was about to be pampered and primped in Petals Hair and Beauty Salon and my hands looked like a washerwoman’s claws that had been suffused in Sunlight soap for two decades while trying to scrub a cocktail of dandruff and Brylcreem from detachable collars.
I know, I know, I am showing my age here. Most Mayo News readers have never even heard of detachable collars, never mind worn or scrubbed them.
So I skulked into one of Westport’s best-known hairdressing and beauty salons bright and early last Friday morning with my anxieties teetering on the edge of hysteria. Well, I was about to expose my toes too.
Manicuring and pedicuring are alien concepts for this aging hack who has been known to apply her makeup without the benefit of a mirror. (Not a pretty sight, according to the forensically observant young women who happen to be my daughters.)
Army of angels
WHAT can I say to the army of angels and artistes who, over the following hours, transformed me into a goddess – well, not quite – so I could grace the table of our Christmas get-together later that afternoon?
Aren’t makeovers full of mystery? Even magic? There I was, first thing in the morning, like the wreck of the Hesperus: hair askance, eyes almost glued closed, arthritic pangs in my left big toe, one glove missing and the emergency pot of caffeine not quite hitting the spot yet.
Four hours later, I glide out of the salon and I could have walked straight down a catwalk in Milan or Paris (metaphorically speaking, of course.) I owe you a double hot-port, Fina, for all those eye-makeup application secrets shared.
From Clara’s relaxing head-massage after Patrice (my longtime hair therapist) banished those pesky grey roots, to the invigoration of the foot-spa – enhanced by a cheeky but oh-so-refreshing West Coast Cooler (and that had nothing to do with prevailing winds blowing in over Clew Bay), it was bliss. I was floating in a trance up on the salon’s mezzanine, sitting on a cushioned throne as the magnificent chandeliers created a twinkling tableau framing Bridge Street and the hordes of festive shoppers. There below me were Colette and Andrea, my hand- and foot-maidens.
Naturally, rapid red was the chosen colour for my revived nails. Well, I’m thinking of applying to deputise for Mrs Claus when the elves are acting up.
Ho, ho, ho!
Oh. the magic of a makeover
