Today was the day of our holiday Christmas party at work. Which is just swell unless, of course, you’re the person responsible for arranging same. Hey….THAT’S ME (clucky chicken)! So, there’s a mite bit of stress involved there. I’m happy to report it was a success but that didn’t stop me from being just a little wrecked in the days leading up to.
Also, CHRISTMAS IN GENERAL.
No matter how much shopping I put behind me in October and November, come December, I start feeling the Xmas panic. Heck, is ANYBODY out there immune to the Christmas Panic? If so, e-mail me. Though, I can’t decide if I’ll want a list of your secrets for a stress-free yuletide season or if the rest of us will just run on over and beat the hell out of you on general principle.
And then, there’s my hair.
SWEET JEEBUS MY HAIR.
I hate it. To cut or not to cut? To bang or not to bang? These are the questions.
These questions are not made easier by having a husband with very definite ideas about what MY hair should look like and a tireless capacity for vocalizing said ideas. HIS hair he just shaves off every couple of weeks (lucky!). As for my hair, his big idea is for me to let it get all one length and then grow it out Pentecostal style (no-bang).
I know. Very inventive of him.
Actually, after giving it a little thought (for ten years), what I really think he has in mind is this:
And, yah, I wish my hair (or any part of me) looked like that too. Unfortunately, my hair will NEVER look like that not even if you chopped me (and my hair) into little pieces, processed me in a blender, and resurrected Da Vinci to re-sculpt me using the resulting mush would I look like that.
Right now, having (finally) taken my husband’s hair style advice I look totally, TRAGICALLY, (let's face it) Pentecostal.
That's right, I'm bang-free and SCARY.
Actually, he did have one other idea about a hairstyle for me. Years ago, we went into a restaurant where we were served by this tiny little blonde waitress with dreadlocks almost down to her knees. The amazing dreads were gathered up in a huge, gigantic pony-tail so thick that I could not have spanned it with both hands. After she took our drink order and left, Satan leaned across the table and said (in all sincerity), “Your hair would look GREAT like that.”
And then I fainted.
Okay, well, no I didn’t faint, but PEOPLE. Knee-length dreadlocks? ME?
Really, the aforementioned is but one of many incredible quotes by Satan regarding my hair. Here's just a couple of examples:
(Frowning and looking at my hair critically)
(Wondering what the hell the problem is)
(sneeringly) You look like the Breck Girl
You look like the Breck girl (he re-sneered)
Seriously. You look like the Breck girl (he spat)
But, that's a compliment, right?
HELL, NO it's not a compliment
And, this leads us to the grandaddy of all Satan's comments about my hair. It's kind of incredible, but I swear to you this actually happened one winter at our former residence.
(Standing at the front door with his coat on getting ready to go out)
(Sitting in my favorite chair telling him good-bye)
(Suddenly and without warning)
Your hair is too clean and shiny.
And, re-reading those quotes, leaves me with only one obvious question:
I'm taking this man's hairstyle advice....why?
I'm SO re-banging, baby.
Now if someone would just finish my Christmas shopping for me.