|I told you ! You used too much gel!!|
What are the chances you will have a bad hair day -- quite possibly, a very bad hair day -- on the day you must attend a wedding with your husband's co-workers? Allow me to clue you in...
100% absolutely certain.
It all began innocently enough. The day before the wedding was a typical Saturday: do laundry, have soup for lunch, languidly pay a few bills, gaze out the window and question the meaning of life through a mist of tears. As I said, a routine day.
I took my shower early--towel drying first, blow drying second and could tell, early in the process, that it was going to be one of those very rare, really good hair days.
I held my breath, round brush in hand, mousse at the ready....
The tonsorial forces of the universe were with me, the hair gods smiling in my direction because it was just right--full in the right places, facing in the proper direction, no frizz to be seen.
But who, besides Seth and the cats, were going to witness it??
|It looks fine to me, Honey.|
Thinking feverishly about what I could possibly insert into my day to maximize the occasion, I considered hosting a spur-of-the moment dinner party for 70, meeting Queen Elizabeth, being interviewed by Geraldo...
Realizing these things required a) more planning b) a special invitation reserved for visiting dignitaries or Elton John or c) killing someone, I settled for a trip to the supermarket.
So off I went, keeping the windows of the car hermetically sealed lest a hair be blown out of place but, upon arrival, bitterly observed that it was strangely empty for a Saturday.
|Leave me alone, you idiot. I'm not going anywhere!|
Undeterred, I made pointed eye contact with everyone in my path, lingered in produce, stalked someone I vaguely knew in dairy but left without receiving the attention I felt my hair deserved.
A bit crestfallen but still cheerful -- after all, a good hair day is always a good day, I confronted the lurking knowledge that, statistically, the chance of having a good hair day twice in a row is virtually nil.
I could, of course, attempt to prolong the festivities by not washing it. This approach is typically a huge mistake--halfway through your day, your hair will suddenly become greasy and fall flat. I had no choice, I was going to a wedding. I took a shower.
Farewell magically good hair. Hello bad hair day.
Not only was it bad but it was so bad that I had to re-wet it and try again. Still no luck.
I contemplated starting a huge fight with Seth which would culminate in me bellowing "OH YEAH? WELL, I'M NOT GOING!!" but I had already used this technique quite recently.
I considered an alternate scenario which involved throwing myself down a flight of stairs and going to the ER where everyone is having a bad hair day. This approach, however, included pain and possible complications based on whether I broke a bone or tore a ligament, so I nixed it as well.
My fate was sealed.
I was going to have to leave the house not only looking like a cat had licked my head into what might be described as a faux hawk meets the Bride of Frankenstein, but attend a wedding where other women always seem to know exactly how to coax a good day out of their hair and have much cuter shoes and evening bags than I do.
Defeated, I dressed and we left.
Oddly enough, no one appeared to notice but they're a very nice crowd and, I'm sure, thoughtfully contained their horror. We all chatted pleasantly, making wedding small talk (I only swore once and it was out of nerves) but there were disposable cameras on every table.
I am now going to start googling "crazy hair."
I bet I pop up. If I do, I'll post the picture tomorrow.
|Somehow, a faux hawk look s better on him than on me.|