I should’ve known this was coming. I mean, it’s karmic retribution for blithely tossing around the word “malapropisms” a few days ago. Stupid! I should’ve covered myself better. I should’ve known! Murphy is no friend of mine. Murphy comes up as “Unavailable” on the Caller ID and then tries to sell me aluminum siding during dinner, in fact.
And yet, here I am. Victim of so many communication failures. It is to laugh, if only I can stop wailing and gnashing my teeth long enough to do so.
Example 1: “No, Mama. I am TELLING you, they were talking about the LONG Ranger. He had to ride for a very LONG time. See? You’ve never even SEEN that show. And LONE isn’t even a word.” (My wise reaction: I backed away slowly, because heaven forbid I actually be RIGHT about anything.)
Example 2: “I didn’t kick you! I was just… rubbing your leg… with my foot… a little.” (My wise reaction: Mama Death Glare, judiciously administered until the little head hung and the lip quivered and an apology was offered.)
Example 3 is more complicated. But I’m sure it’s just as funny! Or will be, someday, looking back, after a LOT of alcohol!
So, hey–remember my FABULOUS new haircut? I went short for the first time in 20 years and it was actually pretty great? No tears, no trauma.
And then, I dyed my hair? To cover the grey? And it was, um, black. Which was Not The Goal. But! I consulted my friend the internet! And my actual human friends who were not as dumb as me! And I was able to (mostly) get it back to brown.
I got cocky. Too many near-misses, and I thought I was invincible. I see my folly, now. Alas.
So, today, I went in to see my stylist and we did that pre-shampoo thing where I sit in the chair and tell her what I want. I ran my hands through my hair and showed her the areas where it had just gotten too thick and bushy. “I’m really loving it,” I told her, “But see how it’s all sticking out here? I think we need to go a little bit shorter this time.”
Well hello there, Example 3! Come right on it and MAKE ME CRY LIKE A LITTLE GIRL.
See, I said, “I think we need to go a little bit shorter this time.” I’m not positive what she heard, but I think I’ve narrowed it down to one of the following:
She heard: Have some speed and make me look like a little porter this time.
She heard: I think we need to shave my head this time.
She heard: You smell like a goat, dress like a transvestite hooker, and I will never ever tip you a single red cent ever again. Now that you know that, why dontcha go ahead and cut my hair?
How bad is it? Don’t even bother asking for a picture.
Hey, speaking of pictures! I came home and, um, wept copiously, and kept peeking in the mirror to see if, I dunno, maybe my hair had magically GROWN since I’d last looked, and then I had a brilliant idea! I know of at least two women whom I admire and think are beautiful who sport very short, dark hair. I could go look at some of their pictures and remind myself how very flattering such a ‘do can be, and then I would cheer right up!
Except. Um. My hair is now shorter than both of theirs. SHORT. ER.
On the bright side, it’s now remarkably close to my original color… since all of the hair I dyed was pretty much lopped off right at the scalp. Hahahaha. You! Get me another drink! And some cyanide.
I had to get through an entire afternoon/evening with the kids before I could properly drown my sorrows, so I did the only thing that made sense. I tried to turn that frown upside down! Because nothing says comfort like artificial maple-flavored sugar and half a pound of pork fat.
Well, the kids seemed to enjoy it. Maybe the problem was that I didn’t make myself a happy face, opting instead to watch the children enjoy theirs while I merely concentrated on scooping syrup directly into my mouth with strips of bacon.
Just so we’re clear: If you see me any time in the next 4 weeks or so, the only acceptable comment regarding how I look is, “Nice hat.”