You know how you feel after a haircut.....especially if it's long overdue. I'm notorious for waiting until I'm desperate for one before I call and see about an appointment, so by the time I get there, I'm ready to see some hair hitting the floor. I've got this thick, heavy hair....like a cocker spaniel. The longer it gets, the bigger I get.
I'd already hit rock bottom last week when I just couldn't take it anymore and got the scissors out on my bangs. You know how you have to do sometimes. I mean....they shouldn't make it look so easy.....the way they hold the hair between their fingers and just cut along the line. How hard could it be?
So, a few days ago, while I was in hair removal mode, (which, by the way, seems to be taking up more and more of my time) I got in front of my mirror and did some work. I'm not sure I have an aptitude for hair dressing. I think I cut them too straight across and felt like one of the Beatles.
So.....I went in the salon today feeling a little frumpy....my hair all heavy and blah. You know when you leave, though, you're feeling like an Herbal Essence commercial. I put my shades on, threw my head back, and strutted through the parking lot.....in slow motion, of course.....with a gentle breeze blowing my voluptuous hair back. I was fierce.
Now if only there were a pill you could take to freeze your hair's growth about a week after your haircut when it's just perfect. Somebody should work on that.
I went to buy some groceries on the way home and there was a little boy in there with his mother and he was screaming bloody murder. I'm not talking about a short lived tantrum. I'm talking....he was sustaining a one note shriek not unlike a test of the emergency broadcast system....and it was with such bravado that it would have been quite impressive had he been on an opera stage. Since he was at Wal-Mart, though, it wasn't really impressing anyone.
He looked to be about three or four years old and he was putting off screams that could be heard all over the store.....no matter where you were. It was everywhere. You know how annoying this is when you're not a blood relative of the child. Everyone was turning to see what kind of rabid creature was making the horrific noise. I heard a few mumblings about him needing a spanking. Some had their fingers in their ears. Yeah, it was that loud.
Somehow when we hear a kid pitching a fit in a store, we kind of subconsciously shake our heads in disapproval.....forgetting the time that our kid stretched out in front of the candy counter, blocking shopping cart traffic flow, while turning red as a beet and screaming "I don't like you anymore" at the top of her lungs at the denial of her confectionary wishes......or, oh, that time when your son dropped the largest container of BBs sold in North America in the sporting goods section and they went rolling for miles in every direction creating a virtual nightmare for the legal department of Wal-Mart....the stuff that worst case scenario training videos are made of.
Yeah, we forget about all that. Time is a great healer.
Anyway, I crossed paths with the mother and son over in dairy. You could tell the mother was trying to implement the ignore tactic as she pushed the cart like she didn't even hear the primal screams. I couldn't help but watch her struggling to get him in the shopping cart as he kicked and screamed all the louder. I debated whether to give her a compassionate smile or just look at the yogurt intently as if he wasn't bothering me and all this was not a big deal. I decided to go the yogurt route.
Finally, they headed toward the front of the store.....the screaming got farther and farther away. I thought....."poor lady....she has to take that car alarm home with her". Couldn't help but have pity on her.
And our dishwasher problem turned out to be more than a gasket problem. Davis pulled it out of the cabinets and into the garage, where he has been tinkering with it. Since returning from our walk, he's been busy putting it back in the hole and then we'll conduct a test run. After two days, there are plenty of dishes with which to experiment.
I can tell you that I am not, at all, fond of the old way of doing dishes.....the whole deal about filling up the sink with soapy water and rinsing and drying. This crisis has multiplied my respect for women who have gone on before us and endured life in the pre-Maytag age. My hat's off to you, ladies.
Happy Hump Day!