When I awoke this morning, my codependent cardigan was not draped at the end of my bed. In its place was a black silk shirt.
It’s a bit like waking up to find my husband is now a hot summer fling, which I neither remembered or wanted. It can mean only one thing: summer has arrived and that means change.
On the one hand, I love summer. It brightens my mood and always transports me back to childhood — because that was the last time I enjoyed a normal summer without rituals.
My cardigan is not the only summer change, of course. My entire ritualistic life gets the good ole Spring Clean.
Mirror feng shui
In 2024, I have transitioning into summer down to a ritual. It’s a bit like monthly cramps except less often. I expect three to four days of pain, where my mirror has PMS and my face takes on a shade of pink poloni sausage, before my bi-annual game of mirror feng shui soothes it all away.
As of today, my grooming rituals have officially entered summer mode. What this means is I’ve endured the aforementioned four nerve-cramping days and have performed my feng shui routine. Bogey Maid’s hormones are restored.
So what is my mirror feng shui?
It’s a simple process, starting with furniture sliders. I discovered these nifty little disks only four years ago and they transformed my BDD life. Within three pushes and one pull, my vanity mirror no longer faces East, now it faces West, thereby restoring the perfect light-to-shade ratio and direction.
Four Layers and a polonaise
Six years ago, my summer transition had a very different feng shui component.
Instead of furniture sliders, I’d be retrieving my summer furnishings. By the time I was finished, my windows rivalled the dresses in Gone With The Wind — petticoat and all.
Layer one: a net curtain hung close to the glass. A superficial layer of camouflage to appease the neighbours, aka curb appeal. I didn’t want the curtain twitchers asking why mine hung flacid and to excess.
Layer two: a white roman blind. Also for curb appeal because it was mostly useless for blocking sunshine.
Layer three: a blackout blind, which was really never more than an overcasting blind. I cut if free from its roller and instead stretched its rubber-backed fabric over the frame like cling film, pinning it to the frame on all sides so the sun’s nimble fingers couldn’t curl around the edges like a sneaky window peeper.
Layer four: Thick, fully lined curtains drawn so tight they overlapped the centre seam.
Now that I see these layers written out, I wonder, why didn’t I build an internal wall out of plywood?
All in all, I’d say I’ve achieved remarkable progress. Sure I lead a ritualistic life, however, I have plans to transition out of rituals within two years. Watch this space — or better yet, subscribe.
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