The Crab Chronicles

Boob News

Wow, last night was a dark and stormy night, truly, and the debris all over the roads this morning proves it. I was trying to get supper on the table last night and flipped on the TV, and the announcer interrupted the program to say there were tornadoes in Cherokee and Cobb counties.

I immediately texted my friends and relatives up there.

We didn't get the tornadoes around here, but the power flickered several times.We were all sitting there at the table with LED miner's lights and flashlights. Mom calmly asked Michael to put a candle on the table. It's times like that that I am glad we have a gas stove...

And now for something completely different...

I was perusing the AJC looking for actual news, and I ran across an item so inane, so ridiculous, that I laughed. Is it REALLY important to know that Hooters is cutting late night appetizer prices?? If you like to hang out at Hooters late at night, the prices on their menu items are not your biggest issue...

Next I stumbled on a story about Sandra Bullock Bares Bra in Backless Dress. Yes, Hollyweird celebs do not mind showing off their underwear. What a revelation. I mean - that ANY of them WEAR underwear...

Even Reuters, my go-to site for real news, has a breast-related story about Venezuela...

Maybe the fact that I wasn't breast-fed is why I am absolutely astonished at the level of coverage of BOOBS in the news media...

Everywhere you turn.... BOOBS. Bazookas. Ta Tas. Racks. Bosoms.

It's bizarre.

One of my favorite scenes in It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World is the one below. It's less than two minutes. Watch it and you will understand why it fits in this post:

 

We need to STOP this obsession and think about little things like the economy, and gas prices, and war in Syria, NSA spying but WHAT are we obsessed with?

Boobs.

I think it's breast best to close that topic...

Funny Wedding Stories

I have never been married but I think if that ever happens I want to do a VERY small wedding, just a few close friends and family members, and no fuss. Maybe we can go out to lunch afterwards at Fat Matt's Rib Shack.

Nothing says wedding bliss like RIBS, wouldn't you agree?!

If I met a celebrity the night before, I don't care who, I am NOT inviting them to the wedding. Apparently that's a new trend here in Georgia. I was amused by John Travolta Wedding Crasher. John elected to wear the same tee shirt and jeans he wore when he met the bride and groom the night before the wedding.

If it was a casual wedding, no big deal. However, judging by the photos, it looked rather formal to me. Except for the setting. The young couple got married in the woods, apparently. I wonder who officiated, Smoky the Bear?!

Also, why is John Travolta renewing his pilot's license in Georgia? He doesn't live here. He has a home in Florida. How is that legal??

Weddings are always amusing.

Weddings are simply theater, if you think about it. The bride and groom are putting on a show for friends and family. They arrange what everyone wears, the flowers, the location. Unless they have a religious ceremony, they often write their own vows.

The year 1984 was the year all my friends and relatives seemed to get married.I knew a lot of folks who got married in the 80's.

When I was still in college, a friend of mine got married and she came down the aisle crying. I was there with my parents. I didn't know the groom, and I couldn't imagine why she would cry like that. My father was so upset he said it took all his self-control not to jump up and say "C'mon, you don't have to do this!" He had known the bride since she was a little girl. Despite that odd start, the marriage has survived and that's more than I can say for a lot of the other unions around that time period.

Sometime in the 80's one of my cousins got married, and the singer for that wedding was a guitarist with long hair who did a VERY bad version of The Wedding Song. It was so hard not to giggle. I thought of that experience a few years later when I saw the movie Four Weddings and a Funeral and they had goofy folksingers in one of the early weddings.

The sad thing is, The Wedding Song (There is Love) is a beautiful song, if done right.

Another cousin of mine [I have about 10,000 cousins] got married and the organ sounded like huge mechanical wheezing farts. Oh dear. My mom, me, and my aunt were holding onto each other, laughing silently. That marriage didn't last.

When my brother got married, I was asked if I wanted to be a bridesmaid, or sing. I opted to sing. I had been a bridesmaid in my best friend's wedding a year earlier, and that experience was still fresh in my mind.

My best friend's wedding was a beautiful, elegant affair, very society. My parents had spent a fortune on a dress I never wore again, and gotten satin pumps dyed to match the dress - and I never wore those again. After the ceremony, as soon as I was out of the church, I took off the torture shoes - I mean the pumps - and put on sandals. I went to the reception at the Country Club and proceeded to get tipsy and sing with the band. I then went back to my aunt and uncle's house and slept like the dead for 12 hours. Ah, to be young and stupid again...[That marriage is still intact.]

Anyway, back to my brother's wedding. I had to sing The Lord's Prayer, by Malotte. It's a tough song to sing. The organist was 12 years old and had a stage mama sitting next to him telling him to play really loud - and drown me out. I have a HUGE voice and I was in my prime. He didn't drown me out. In fact, when I hit the high note, if you watch the wedding video, you see my brother's eyes bug out, and the muscle in his cheek twitch because he was trying so hard not to laugh. This is a terrific version of the song:

 

I also sang "Ich Liebe Dich" [I Love Thee] by Edvard Grieg. No pyrotechnics there.

Unfortunately, the marriage only lasted 15 years. I've informed my brother if he ever gets married again, he should go to a wedding chapel in Gatlinburg. He has informed me that he never plans to get married again.Ever.

Oh....KAY...

Another cousin of mine got married a few years later, and all the bridesmaids wore red satin dresses with long white gloves. The dresses had side slits up to the crotch, almost. The bridesmaids carried long white lilies. Looked like they were extras in a Madonna video. The couple? Still married.

The first wedding I ever attended as a semi-grownup was in 1978. My cousin was horribly sick with the flu and it was a gray, rainy day. I was designated as a cake cutter and I did my job admirably, although it was hard to sneak off and eat a huge slab of cake on my own. BTW, my cousin is still married.

Below, a shot of me and Brother prior to going to a wedding in 2001. I was in a skinny [for me] phase.

Still have the dress.... [maybe one day in the not-too-distant future I'll be able to wear it again...]

Bad Coffee

I will freely admit that I am a coffee snob. I don't actually drink the stuff, but I am a snob about it. I used to drink it. That's how I know.

I was hoping to keep Michael from becoming a coffee drinker, but the jury is still out on that.

The other day we had a discussion about how tea stains your teeth. He said he wanted to drink coffee in the morning.

"Coffee stains your teeth 10 times worse than tea," I said casually. I then considered the subject closed.

This morning, he said he wanted a cup of coffee. I was fixing tea for me and a cup of coffee for Mother. I asked him if he wanted the second cup from Granny's grounds. Nope.

FYI, my mother drinks 1 cup of coffee a day, using her single serving Melitta coffee filter holder. I pop in a filter, measure twice the normal amount of Starbucks French Roast, pour the water over it, and inhale.

Yes, I inhale.

Coffee is one of my Top 10 Favorite Smells.

Michael wanted to try an instant coffee we bought a while back. I thought about arguing this morning but then I thought why, let him experience the nasty stuff. So I said fine. I poured him a cup of the foul stuff.

He took one sip, and his face registered horror. HORROR.

HAHAHAHAHAHA! My inner child chortled. He's at the stage where he thinks Mom is an idiot.

He added milk and sugar to his noxious coffee. He managed to choke down a few sips, grimacing as he said "This isn't too bad."

Yes, it IS. One day we will laugh about this. One day when he is about 30.

**********************************************************************************************************************

Michael was supposed to come home after tennis practice yesterday, so around 7. At 7:15 I was getting irritated. At 7:20, he called and said he was playing ultimate frisbees with his buddies and wanted to come home later. I was ticked.I had dinner all ready.

He gets home at 8 and I am looking at watches on the Walmart website. "I am going to find you a watch and YOU ARE GOING TO WEAR IT!" I said, seething.

"Cool. What style? Can I show you the ones I like?"

Good grief.

So I am going to Wallyworld before the heat gets bad, and find him a watch.

No Subtitles Needed

You can laugh all you want to, but I learn all kinds of interesting things from Facebook. For instance, did you know that Here Comes Honey Boo Boo is very popular in Poland?

I found that Access Atlanta already did a story on this phenomena.

Since I've never watched the show, I found this particularly interesting: "The challenge, the story notes, is how to translate a show that is already subtitled for Americans who aren't used to their heavy Southern accents."

I have no intention of watching the show, but I watched this clip of the mother and Honey Boo Boo on Jimmy Kimmel's show. I am flabbergasted that there are people who couldn't understand their accents. Subtitles?? Really?? I guess if there were outsiders at one of my family reunions they would need a translator.

There's a job for my son. He is brilliant at understanding southern, and he speaks with almost no accent. I always say my poor kids had to not only learn English, they had to learn Southern English.

Bruce left yesterday. He was getting restless. I am fully functional, and feeling better, although not 100%.

I've spent a lot of time the last few days reading, writing, and even watching TV - mostly HGTV and the Travel Channel. Those are my fave channels.

Recuperation means very little blog-worthy material, though.

Here's hoping June will be a better month than May was, for me at least. The forecast is good. I have tomatoes on the vine getting ripe! Woo hoo!

This is a photo of a family reunion I attended around 2000. Mother and Bruce and I are all in there, if you want to find us...

Oh, and NONE of us talk like Honey Boo Boo!!

Germ Avoidance Morning

Wow, what an awful morning I had. Had to be at the hospital at 8 in the a.m. - an hour which I am normally drinking tea and leisurely perusing my breakfast choices, patting the dog, walking outside, etc. This morning I had to shower, dress, eat a quick breakfast, kiss Michael goodbye, and jump in the car. 

Used to be, you'd have to check into the hospital the night before a procedure. Not any more. However, I had to go to my pre-procedure hospital visit and fill out forms, pee in a cup, sign things, give blood, and have an EKG. Doesn't sound bad, does it?

Honey, it was no picnic.

It took FOUR HOURS and I forgot to take a book. I had to read old copies of Sports Illustrated and Family Circle. I don't like to even touch anything in any hospital because I am a junior level germaphobe [thanks to my mother and grandmother] but I didn't sleep well last night, and I was afraid if I didn't read I'd fall sound asleep.I had to keep dashing into the bathroom to wash my hands.

I also learned that my crappy insurance isn't paying for a large chunk of this. I may have to make a cardboard sign and go pester people at intersections.

So everything is set for tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it about as much as a root canal.

At least during my last surgery [wisdom teeth pulled in 2000] I was promised milkshakes and ice cream afterwards. And the surgery before that I got ice cream - of course I was 10 and it was a tonsillectomy.

Now I am 50 and my body is reminding me it has an expiration date. Ugh.

I still want the ice cream.

I should be home before lunch. I intend to set up camp on the downstairs sofa and watch chick flicks and snooze all afternoon, and maybe my brother will go get me a milkshake. I can hope.

Anyway, here's a funny from Maxine, if you want a laugh:

As we progress into 2013, I want to thank you all for your educational e-mails over the past year.  I am totally screwed up now and have little chance of recovery.

 

I can no longer open a bathroom door without using a paper towel, nor let the waitress put lemon slices in my ice water without worrying about the bacteria on the lemon peel.

 

I can't sit down on a hotel bedspread because I can only imagine what has happened on it since it was last washed.

 

I have trouble shaking hands with someone who has been driving because the number one pastime while driving alone is picking one's nose.

 

Eating a little snack sends me on a guilt trip because I can only imagine how many gallons of trans-fats I have consumed over the years.

 

I can't touch any woman's handbag for fear she has placed it on the floor of a public toilet.

 

I must send my special thanks for the email about rat poo in the glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet sponge with every envelope that  needs sealing.

 

ALSO, now I have to scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.

 

I can't have a drink in a bar because I fear I'll wake up in a bathtub full of ice with my kidneys gone.

 

I can't eat at KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes, feet or feathers.

 

I can't use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.

 

Thanks to you I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward an e-mail to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.

 

Because of your concern, I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains.

 

I no longer buy fuel without taking someone along to watch the car, so a serial killer doesn't crawl in my back seat when I'm filling up.

 

I no longer use Cling Wrap in the microwave because it causes seven different types of cancer.

 

And thanks for letting me know I can't boil a cup of water in the microwave anymore because it will blow up in my face, disfiguring me for life.

 

I no longer go to the cinema because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS when I sit down.

 

I no longer go to shopping centers because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.

 

And I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a huge phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda,  Singapore and Uzbekistan.

 

Thanks to you I can't use anyone's toilet but mine because a big black snake could be lurking under the seat and cause me instant death when it bites my butt.

 

And thanks to your great advice I can't ever pick up a dime coin dropped in the car park because it was probably placed there by a sex molester waiting to grab me as I bend over.

 

I can't do any gardening because I'm afraid I'll get bitten by the Violin Spider and my hand will fall off.

 

If you don't send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhea will land on your head at 5:00 p.m. tomorrow afternoon, and the fleas from 120 camels will infest your back, causing you to grow a hairy hump.  I know this will occur because it actually happened to  a friend of my next door neighbors ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's best friend's beautician!

 

Oh,  and by the way...

 

A German scientist from Argentina, after a lengthy study, has discovered that people with insufficient brain activity read their e-mails with their hand on the mouse.

 

Don't bother taking it off now, it's too late.

 

P.S.  I now keep my toothbrush in the living room, because I was told by e-mail that water splashes over 6 ft. out of the toilet.

 

NOW YOU HAVE YOURSELF A VERY GOOD DAY... !!

Confessions of a Hot Mess

Above you see me when I was 6 years old. Mother had a little luncheon for me and 6 of my friends. Notice how cute all the other little girls are? How they all have on shoes? How none of them look stoned? Now look at me, on the far left, barefoot.

Trying to make me wear shoes in the summer was like trying to herd cats. Of course, Augusta Georgia is semi-tropical and 90-100 degree days are typical in July and August.

I was reminded of what a handfull I was when a friend posted on Facebook that he was driving his son to school and they got there and his son had no shoes on. I think he's a second grader [the son]. He was adopted from Kazakhstan and looks a bit like a tiny Michael, so I love to see the posted photos.

It reminded me of another story.

My parents liked to "go to ride" on Sunday afternoons when I was a kid and we moved to Knoxville. The beautiful Blue Ridge Parkway was nearby. I was never enthusiastic about those drives. For one thing, I was quite nearsighted, which wasn't discovered until I was about 10. So the lovely mountain views were just big blurs, to me. I really couldn't understand what all the fuss was about.

Anyway, one Sunday I was outside rollerskating when they decided to go to ride. I managed to get in the car wearing roller skates without Mom and Dad noticing.

We get up to the Parkway, and Mom needs to stop and use the restroom. I get out of the car and start skating around on the parkway. Mom and Dad were furious. Bruce thought it was funny. I felt very smug until I started going down the mountain at a dizzying rate and fell off a cliff.

Just kidding about the cliff part.

I was a Hot Mess as a kid. Good thing Mom and Dad only had two of us. Another Thompson child would've sent Mom over the edge. Bruce was a Hot Mess too.

I was an expert at cookie stealing by the time I was 8.

I never went to bed and went to sleep, after about the age of 8. I went to bed and read a book, or listened to the radio. I was always popped into bed early - which is probably why my parents stayed married.

When we lived in Knoxville, on Venice Road, my parents would go downstairs to the basement to watch TV every night after dinner, and I would sneak into the kitchen to watch TV. I watched the entire miniseries Roots that way.

I was also an expert at stealing my brother's clothes. I much preferred his clothes to my girly clothes. When he went to college I had a blast, plundering everything in his room. 

Before his escape joining the army at age 17, when my brother made me mad, I would do things like dismember GI Joe and flush him down the toilet. One time I glued his desk drawers shut. Another time I cut up his bongo drums so they couldn't be played.

When we were teens, I was annoyed at him and his friend Steve for not coming to dinner when I called, so I attacked them with a golf club and hit Bruce right in the cojones.

As soon as Bruce could stand up again, he tried to kill me.

Dad intervened and saved my life.

As bad as I was at home, I almost never did anything at school.

Except once. I was a freshman at Farragut and I was coming up a stairwell, hurrying to get to class, and I gave the door a kung fu kick to open it. The vice principal was on the other side of the door and saw it. He was showing visitors around the new school. His name was Dr. Scott, but we I referred to him as Dr. Snot. He looked very much like the actor Stanley Tucci. He grabbed my arm and spoke to me like I was a juvenile delinquent on the fast track to hell.

I think he'd had too much coffee that morning.

Or maybe not enough.

One time in high school I decided to find out what it felt like to drive 100 mph. Actually, I wasn't driving, Connie C was driving. We were allowed to leave campus and take the newspaper to Lenoir City, to the printer. On the way back, Connie hit 100. I thought I was going to die, ot vomit. What a thrill.

Ah to be young and stupid again.

Were you a Hot Mess too?! Leave me a comment and tell me the worst thing you ever did.

Plumbing Issues

Well, it was a morning of Ladies Plumbing Issues, and I was not a happy camper. I will try to be circumspect and spare you the gory details and just say "female issues."

Guys, you may want to stop reading now -

although I'm not going to be explicit about the yucko morning I had. Not much.

I have had a pretty easy time with menopause, mainly because I've been able to take Royal Maca Root. I learned today that I have a condition now called endometrial hyperplasia.

Try saying that four times fast.

I will say this. The ER folks at Northside Hospital are the best. Very efficient, and kind. I was shown to a room within 5 minutes, and fairly comfy all morning while they ran tests.There were yucko moments but I won't go there. Not publicly. If you saw the movie "Carrie".....

no, won't go there. Never mind that.

My friend Kristy is a doll - how many folks are there that can be called to take a friend to the ER at 7:30 a.m. and they come right away?! And I sat on a beach towel the whole way over to the hospital.

Sorry if that's too yucky...

My mother jumped up and made Michael his breakfast. My friend Steve took Michael to school.If left to his own devices he would've eaten popcorn or half a piece of toast.

Thanks be to God for a good support system.

When the ER doctor came in - and BTW, he was a hottie. WOW. Looked like a young Peter Scolari -

- we were chatting and I mentioned my son. A minute later he said "So how many times have you given birth?"

I said "None." He looked startled. I briefly thought about mentioning pod people or sea monkeys or something really wacky, but in the end I just said "My kids are adopted."

Yes, I was trying to prolong the conversation so I could just look at him. I'll admit it. [I ALWAYS had a crush on Peter Scolari. What a hunk.]

Dr. Cutie Pie started listening to my heart and got a vaguely horrified look on his face. He whipped off his stethoscope and regarded me. "You have a small heart murmur," he said. "Yep, I know," was my reply. "No biggie." [My mom and uncles have this too] I was tempted to say "I DIDN'T have it until you came right over here and stood next to me, Dr. CUTIE PIE!!

but I restrained myself.

He had on a wedding ring.

He was super nice but not a jokey kinda guy. I tend to make a lot of jokes when I am nervous.

Then I had an untrasound. It was NOT FUN. I won't go into details. It was invasive, OK?! They were looking at the plumbing from the INSIDE. ICK.

Thank goodness the ultrasound tech was about my age and had big hair.

Ladies with Big Hair are very comforting to me.

I have no idea why.

Probably stems from early memories of my mother and the 1960's bouffant she wore.

Later, when Dr. Cutie Pie came in and started explaining my medical issues I made him pause for a moment while I got a pen and paper, and I wrote down every multi-syllable medical term he said.

He looked surprised. I just knew I wouldn't remember things like "uterine ablation." I explained that I was a personal injury paralegal for many years and I like to Google things and figure them out. I find medical stuff fascinating. Scary, too, when it's about ME, but definitely fascinating...

I didn't mention that I have a particular fascination for Medical Malpractice. Doctors tend to cringe when they hear that word, particularly young ones.

I was home before 1:00.

The rest of the day has been uneventful. No gory details to spare you from.

I have an appointment Friday with the Ladies Plumbing Repair Doctor [OBGYN].

Finally, I wanted to end with something funny. This is Mike Myers introducing Sean Connery. It has absolutely NOTHING to do with ladies plumbing issues. BUT it's Very amusing...

 

Choose Wisely

You see the photo above? I was six years old. I was a flower girl in the wedding of one of Mother's cousins. I had on a lovely blue velvet dress and that strange boa thing on my head and I looked adorable except for the pained expression on my face.

Why did I look that way? I remember it vividly.

The table held just a few goodies. Weddings in 1968 were not the elaborate affairs they are today. I had discovered plates of cheese straws on the refreshment table and I was busily trying to eat them all. Quietly.

Somebody came up and snapped the photo of me, ruining my chances of eating every.last.cheese.straw. Drat. The two ladies in the background are my great aunts Marcellle and Dot and they were probably forcing me to be very sneaky anyway, but that photographer? He ruined the whole deal.

Come to think of it, it was likely my dad snapping the photo.

What's funny is that this photo tells such a funny story. I wrote about this phenomena [but not this particular photo] yesterday on my blog The Write Rainmaker. Business owners think they can slap up some generic photo on their website and it will be just fine but they underestimate the power of images.

Images can be a huge asset on a website, or not. It's a choice.

I've tried to persuade my son that all of life consists of a series of choices, and we all have the power to control our lives. We can choose our attitudes. It's a lesson it took me years to really absorb, but I am trying to get him to think about it more consciously, from an earlier age.

If I could've taken a photo of Michael's face yesterday when he came home from school, it would frighten small children. He was in a royally foul humor. I never did find out why. He is, of course, a TEENAGER, and that implies angst. 

I made him eat a snack, and we played chess outside on the patio. He got in a better mood when I let him beat me at chess.

In all truthfulness, I've always been a wretchedly bad chess player. He thinks several moves ahead and has strategies in place and all, the way you're supposed to play. I just randomly move things around. It confounds him because he can't predict what I will do.He got so mad at one point he threw my castle into the backyard, and then I made him go find it.

I think of that as good practice for married life someday. LOL

Mother's Day Drama

My plan was to rest and relax all day yesterday, but like most plans like that, it didn't happen.

I wanted to stay home and relax. We had to go to Kroger. And Home Depot. And to get gas.

At 9 last night my brother called to wish Mother a Happy Mother's Day, and I told him we were just sitting down to dinner. He was flabbergasted. We normally eat between 7 and 8. Michael was supposed to help Mother get dinner done.

Michael was not happy with that plan.I told him to start at 6. He started about 6:45.

Mother got the country fried steak cooking and tried to supervise Michael making a salad. Then she gave up, went back to her room, called me and said I would have to finish dinner.

I was sitting in my room trying to read, which meant Michael had to call up the stairs to me about 6 times, so he could make a salad. I finally gave up reading and just sat there.

Michael was asking me questions like: "Where is the feta cheese?" [he cannot find anything in the fridge]/ "What do you put in the salad besides lettuce?" [he's watched me make salad many times and Mother, who taught me, was standing right.there.beside.him.] "What do you put in the salad to make it GOOD?!" [same thing I told you a minute ago]

Finally, "WHAT ARE WE HAVING BESIDES SALAD?!"

"Bread. On the counter in front of the bread box."

"That's ALL?!"

I walked downstairs and fixed some bisquits.

We get through all that, and the call with Bruce. Michael eats two bisquits, a small piece of steak, and nothing else. He refused to touch any salad. I had chopped up a few of the mushrooms to make them smaller. I think he was insulted.

He wouldn't even eat any key lime pie.

At one point yesterday he asked me when Kids Day is, since I got an entire day all to myself. "The other 364 days a year are ALL kids days," I informed him.

This morning I discovered he hadn't taken out the garbage. He didn't unload the dishwasher. He didn't memorize the poem he was supposed to memorize.

He took two tennis balls to school so he could practice juggling. He asked me if he could make a living as a juggler.

"NO! Stay in school," I replied.

He has 9 more days of school.

Thanks be to God I put some color on my hair the other day because the GRAY IS TAKING OVER MY HEAD.

This was made around 1981. It's the only photo I know of from that time period. Mom and Dad and I were all dressed up to go out somewhere. Not sure where. The picture was made with one of those cameras where the photo pops out and you watch it develop. Those were fun cameras but the prints don't hold up too well.

I always think when I see this photo, that's why I don't look good with my hair pulled back. Then my entire head looks like an egg...

Hair Today

I have been scalped. Literally. Not deprived of money or sold overpriced tickets.

No, I was scalped at a discount hair cuttery by a tiny Asian teenager who probably weighs less then one of my legs.It happened yesterday.

Let me backtrack for a moment, though.

Last week I got a haircut. While she was cutting my hair, the little Indian lady was talking a mile a minute about her mother in law, who lives with them and is apparently nutty as a fruitcake. She was wielding the scissors angrily, lambasting the caregiver who sat around all day doing nothing and would not even dust the TV. "She is LAZY!" I heard.

"Absolutely," I agreed.

When someone with very sharp scissors is standing over my head, and is angry, I will agree with ANYTHING they say.

She then asked me how I liked my haircut.

I put on my glasses and looked at the tufts of hair sticking out over my ears. "Can you trim those? They look weird," I asked, timidly. She sighed, grabbed the scissors, and did something else to that hair.

Now, I am blind as a bat without my glasses, and I don't wear my glasses during a haircut, so the end result is always a surprise.

The stylist [whose name is foreign and yet impossible for me to remember] whacked away with the scissors and started in on her no-good husband, and her lazy, slob daughter who won't wear deoderant. She was getting more and more agitated by the minute.

The clacking of the scissors seemed very loud for a few minutes.

I put on my glasses, decided not to complain more, paid and left.

For several days, I hated my head every time I looked in the mirror. HATED it. I had an interview on Thursday and I felt like I looked like an escaped mental patient. I came home furious.

Thursday and Friday were busy days and I didn't have time to get my hair cut again on Saturday, so I went to get it re-cute yesterday. Michael was horrified by the notion of me going back to Great Clips and confronting the little Indian lady. "You will hurt her feelings!" he said.

He cannot stand the thought of hurting anyone's feelings, my sweet boy.

So I agreed to just go to Fantastic Sam's and get the weird hair tufts trimmed back. We used to go to Fantastic Sams a lot, and then we decided we liked Great Clips better. Plus it's cheaper.

The young lady who greeted me was tiny. I mean, I'm 5'3, and I towered over her. She had long hair carelessly pinned back in a barrette, and it was black, but with streaks of reddish/blonde. Her voice was soft and she slurred her words a little bit. I explained what I wanted and sat down in the chair.

I took off my glasses. She wet down the hair and started cutting. It wasn't cutting, though, not really. I asked her what she was doing.

"Texturizing it with a razor," she answered. "It gives more body to the hair."

I sat there paralyzed while she continued doing this, all the while talking a mile a minute to one of the other stylists about their plans to go out clubbing.

I was not happy with the sounds coming from the back of my head, but I was paralyzed. She was tiny, yes, but she was holding an old-fashioned straight razor.

I couldn't say anything. I couldn't move. I was afraid to move my head for fear that razor would somehow cut me.

Irrational? Yes. I admit it.

I kept thinking, "I'm sure it will be fine. She's a professional. It will be fine.

"Um, my hair is naturally curly. I don't want the curl cut out."

"OK."

I don't know if there was a language barrier or a hearing issue, but she managed to cut every single bit of curl off my head.

I'm not vain about my hair. Back when it was long, I spent some money on it, and spent time every day styling it. I'll admit that. I was trying to snag a husband.

Now? I couldn't care less. My fashion goals now are simply this: Clean. Clothing without holes.

I do like my hair though. It's one of only two good features on my body, the other one being my eyes. Now people are noticing my eyes a lot more.

I still have hair. A little bit.

I'm going to save money on shampoo.

My mother usually praises my short haircuts. She took one look at this one and said, "Well, it will grow out."

Thanks. Thanks a lot.

Bill has more hair than I do....
ACK!