We were out in the yard this weekend planting when I was bitten on the
neck by a vampire bat - or maybe a just an obese mosquito with the
appetite of a vampire bat ~ it could have been either. The results are the same: I have a giant red welt the size
of a hickory nut on my neck. It itches and it's ugly.
Speaking of ugly, let's talk some more about my current haircut. Ever since I wrote about my recent salon experience, I've been running into friends who look at me and say, "Your hair doesn't look that bad." While I appreciate "not looking that bad," it really isn't what any girl hopes to hear when others comment upon her appearance.
Jer read that post too. He came home, looked at my hair and said, "Did you really get a haircut?" to which I replied, "Yes."
"Oh. I thought you just quit styling it."
Charming.
The good news was that I go to a place with a customer appreciation program. That is correct. My ugly haircut was free. At least it has that going for it.
Comedy Blog: "The older I get, the stronger the current seems!"
Showing posts with label haircuts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label haircuts. Show all posts
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Friday, December 7, 2012
The Haircut
I was getting my hair trimmed for the holidays when my beautician started to cough.
"You must have sucked in some hair," I said.
She just laughed, opened her equipment drawer and fished out a pair of tweezers.
"I use these to get all the hair out of my bellybutton before I leave the shop at night," she said.
Wow! That new tidbit of information inspired me to tip my stylist a lot more than I usually do.
"You must have sucked in some hair," I said.
She just laughed, opened her equipment drawer and fished out a pair of tweezers.
"I use these to get all the hair out of my bellybutton before I leave the shop at night," she said.
Wow! That new tidbit of information inspired me to tip my stylist a lot more than I usually do.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Our wild class reunion
My class reunion on Saturday night was the best one I've ever attended. There was no band which meant we could actually hear each other talking, so talk we did. The event was scheduled from 4:30 until 7:30 and we closed the place down after 10:00. I woke up on Sunday morning hoarse. I guess we're finally old enough to throw a good party.
(I'd like to publicly thank Colleen's husband for buying me a drink even though I am aware that Colleen told him to do so. It was the only beverage of any sort I drank all night and by the time it came I was parched.)
I did not bring my own dear husband to the reunion because he knew no one and I didn't want to feel I had to waste time by filling him in on all the back-stories that went with each conversation. Plus, he refused to come. Said he didn't want to attend his own reunion, why would he want to come to mine? It's hard to argue with that kind of logic.
I stretched my memory to recall things about everyone I talked to. I told Tim I was sorry that I hit him in the stomach and made him cry at that basketball game long ago. I talked about the notes Betsy and I passed in Mrs. Morey's math class. I thanked Glenn for dancing with me at the twice-a-year mixers in junior high. I forgave Tom for declaring his undying love for Diane while simultaneously telling me he wouldn't date me if I were the last girl on earth. (Sixth grade was a tough year for me.)
I told Robin I remembered that slumber party where she told the scary story about the lady with the beehive hairdo who never washed it and then ants got in there and they chewed through her scalp. I admired Teri's beautiful, long nails. I reminded Jamie about how kicked me in the mouth while practicing his cartwheels. I mentioned to Steve the time we skipped Sunday school to go hang out by the river. I told Pam she owed me the quarter that she borrowed at the county fair in eighth grade. That was actually a joke (or was it?) but, to her credit, she fished around in her purse for one.
It seemed weird to me but not one of these people I talked to seemed to remember any of these insignificant events. I could have dug deeper into my treasure box of memories but I was so busy having fun that I didn't bother. Plus, I felt certain that at least Tim really did remember, I mean - come on! How often does a girl punch you in the stomach hard enough to make you cry?
During a lull in the conversations, one of the sweetest (and cutest) boys from our class came up to me and announced that he'd had a crush on me in high school. (Information, it seems, that might have been more useful forty years ago.)
"But you knew that." he said.
"No, this is the first I've heard of it."
"Yes you did. I told your best friend."
"Well, she didn't tell me." I replied.
"I told her not to."
Mystery solved! Apparently Kendra is one of a select group of women in this world who can actually keep a secret. Although I felt a twinge of regret for what might have been, how cool to find evidence at this late date that my friend was a woman of her word!
Every class has that painfully shy girl with the long brown hair. Ours has dyed hers a flattering shade of red, had it stylishly cut and was dressed to kill - great outfit, beautiful jewelry, the whole deal. Absolutely everything about her looked perfect. Most of the evening she stood sizzlin' at the bar surrounded by guys - both single and married - who were falling all over themselves to buy her drinks. That's gotta feel good! She looked absolutely terrific. Said she gained confidence when she had her first child at age forty. You go, girl!
After the party was over and I had stopped at the beer tent to say my final farewells, I immediately went back to Detroit. As much fun as reminiscing can be, it can't compare to waking up to your daughter bringing her beautiful baby boy into your bedroom to play. All of the women I talked to in the Class of '71 would agree with that.
(I'd like to publicly thank Colleen's husband for buying me a drink even though I am aware that Colleen told him to do so. It was the only beverage of any sort I drank all night and by the time it came I was parched.)
I did not bring my own dear husband to the reunion because he knew no one and I didn't want to feel I had to waste time by filling him in on all the back-stories that went with each conversation. Plus, he refused to come. Said he didn't want to attend his own reunion, why would he want to come to mine? It's hard to argue with that kind of logic.
I stretched my memory to recall things about everyone I talked to. I told Tim I was sorry that I hit him in the stomach and made him cry at that basketball game long ago. I talked about the notes Betsy and I passed in Mrs. Morey's math class. I thanked Glenn for dancing with me at the twice-a-year mixers in junior high. I forgave Tom for declaring his undying love for Diane while simultaneously telling me he wouldn't date me if I were the last girl on earth. (Sixth grade was a tough year for me.)
I told Robin I remembered that slumber party where she told the scary story about the lady with the beehive hairdo who never washed it and then ants got in there and they chewed through her scalp. I admired Teri's beautiful, long nails. I reminded Jamie about how kicked me in the mouth while practicing his cartwheels. I mentioned to Steve the time we skipped Sunday school to go hang out by the river. I told Pam she owed me the quarter that she borrowed at the county fair in eighth grade. That was actually a joke (or was it?) but, to her credit, she fished around in her purse for one.
It seemed weird to me but not one of these people I talked to seemed to remember any of these insignificant events. I could have dug deeper into my treasure box of memories but I was so busy having fun that I didn't bother. Plus, I felt certain that at least Tim really did remember, I mean - come on! How often does a girl punch you in the stomach hard enough to make you cry?
During a lull in the conversations, one of the sweetest (and cutest) boys from our class came up to me and announced that he'd had a crush on me in high school. (Information, it seems, that might have been more useful forty years ago.)
"But you knew that." he said.
"No, this is the first I've heard of it."
"Yes you did. I told your best friend."
"Well, she didn't tell me." I replied.
"I told her not to."
Mystery solved! Apparently Kendra is one of a select group of women in this world who can actually keep a secret. Although I felt a twinge of regret for what might have been, how cool to find evidence at this late date that my friend was a woman of her word!
Every class has that painfully shy girl with the long brown hair. Ours has dyed hers a flattering shade of red, had it stylishly cut and was dressed to kill - great outfit, beautiful jewelry, the whole deal. Absolutely everything about her looked perfect. Most of the evening she stood sizzlin' at the bar surrounded by guys - both single and married - who were falling all over themselves to buy her drinks. That's gotta feel good! She looked absolutely terrific. Said she gained confidence when she had her first child at age forty. You go, girl!
After the party was over and I had stopped at the beer tent to say my final farewells, I immediately went back to Detroit. As much fun as reminiscing can be, it can't compare to waking up to your daughter bringing her beautiful baby boy into your bedroom to play. All of the women I talked to in the Class of '71 would agree with that.
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