Hellooo my daffodils! Hope springs eternal, even if my garden bulbs won’t. Lori writes to say her tulips are also headless, so it must be a common problem, and not a character flaw. Lori is also fighting the Covid 15 (pounds) by going for walks every day, with some yoga and Pilates thrown in for good measure. Cathy is sad that John and I had a fight last weekend. Don’t worry, Cathy. Neither of us can recall what it was about, and at least it gave us something to do. Charlene is celebrating her 40th birthday this week; she and her husband were supposed to go to NYC this weekend.  They had tickets to “Moulin Rouge” and dinner reservations at Le Coucou. Instead, it’s going to be pizza and Netflix. Happy birthday anyway, Charlene. There’s always next year. 41 is the new 40.

 

We were supposed to go to Miami to play golf last weekend. Aidan was supposed to go to the Bahamas this weekend for his bachelor trip. Jamie was supposed to go to Mexico for hers. They were supposed to get married in June! Ronan was supposed to graduate from university. He’ll still graduate, but no convocation. Moses supposes his toeses are roses, but Moses supposes erroneously. Here, check this out:

Singing in the Rain. Still one of the best movie musicals of all time. Imagine being able to dance like that. Maybe watch that with your birthday pizza, Charlene.

 

Anyhoozles. We are all getting a little bit restless here on the home front, and hairy too. I watched Katherine pluck Ronan’s eyebrows yesterday evening. Kath also cuts her own hair, and does a pretty good job of it. I may have to ask her to have a go at mine. Short white hair is one thing, but as it gets longer I’m starting to look a little like Doc Brown in Back to the Future. John is thinking of buzzing his head. You never know until you try, and if ever there was a time to experiment, this is it. I rather fancy the idea of a bald man, if only to shake things up a bit. The dogs are also getting pretty wooly. We washed them last weekend, and trimmed their faces. Here’s Asta getting a manicure:

 

 

Or is it a pedicure? Or a PET-icure? All I know is she doesn’t like it. My own nails are a complete disaster. I soaked and filed off most of the gel manicure I’ve had done for the past decade or so, and the results are pretty dismaying. Take a look:

 

 

In all seriousness, I feel for the hair and nail salons, as well as the massage therapists, the personal trainers, the aestheticians, the makeup artists and all the people who make their livings making the rest of us look and feel presentable. Not to mention the dancers and singers and artists, the chefs, cooks and waiters, everyone whose services are deemed non-essential, when without them we’d be unkempt, unstimulated, undernourished and unhappy. I miss them all, and can’t wait to see them again.

 

So that’s the Hair and Nail report. Join me tomorrow for an update on bellybutton lint.

 

Read more Mo to Go HERE!

Have a comment? A suggestion? Just want to chat? You can email Mo here.

Listen to Darren & Mo weekday mornings from 5 to 9 on CHFI.