I just thought of that line from Fried Green Tomatoes and I like it. In reality I am taking zero hormones. In the immortal words of my grandfather, "How do you make a hormone? Don't pay her."
Hello! I plan to make no sense today whatsoever. It's the hormones.
My grandfather also used to say, "Wish in one hand, shit in the other. See which gets filled up first." Basically he said a lot of things that I completely did not understand until I got older and sat there and parsed them.
My GRANDMOTHER, who was the QUEEN of stuff that made no sense, said, "You tell him your ass would make him a Sunday face," which I have told you all before and I believe it flummoxed you as well. See. My ass, which let's all sit around and think about that disaster for a minute. Okay. My ass, which apparently is not great, would make someone else a Sunday face. A Sunday face being as good as you can look. So the best you can look is to look like my ass.
Do you get it now? Good. Go take a hormone.
I got my hair colored last night. Ned paid for it. He didn't inTENtionally pay for it. For my birthday he got me a certificate to a spa, and since then I have gone there for a manicure and then for a massage, but I just found out from TinaDoris they do good hair there, so I got my color done and used his certificate. My colorist looks exactly like Maria Shriver only not devoid of fat in her face. I mean, my colorist looks like a young, fresh Maria Shriver.
Don't get me wrong. We all age and become less than fresh, I know. But those Kennedy women seem to do it so dramatically. BOOM! I'm an apple doll! They're kind of like Asian women. I look great! I look great! I'm 60 and I still look great! I'm--BOOM! Apple doll.
At least we white women fall apart spectacularly obviously with each year. I should do a photo essay of me each year from 20 to the present so we can see the decline. That sounds cheerful.
Anyway, here's my hair.
Here's old Puff Daddy in the bathroom at work, before I left for my hair appointment. I don't know why I'm even bothering to show you this, because you can't really even see the color.
And yay! Here are my NEW HIGHLIGHTS and base color. I am the one who is kind of dark blonde. The gray and white one is my cat. The gray and white one would be me if I didn't use Ned's gift cards to color my hair.
I like to, you know, NOT TALK at the hairdresser. I enjoy looking at an Elle (God, I love E. Jean, the advice columnist), drinking the water they give you like it's luxurious, and just all-around mellowing out. You know? But hairdressers, and I think particularly SOUTHERN hairdressers, think it's crucial to CHAT YOU UP while they're working.
What I was kind of hoping is she'd, you know, surmise that I wanted quiet time while I was there. I mean, I know some women will chat your ear off while you're working on them, but I am not that person. Shouldn't a hairdresser be able to glean, once your client grabs her an Elle, that she's not a chatter?
"So, you go anywhere for the holiday?"
"Yes." {flip, flip, flip pages.}
"...You going anywhere for Christmas?"
"Nope. {smile at E. Jean's brilliance}
I don't know. Maybe I should just say, "You are free to spend the next two hours thinking your thoughts while I read about why clashing eye shadow and lipstick are in."
Have you seen this? Have you seen the weird middle-of-your-eyelid eyeliner crap they're doing and so on? I am not choosing to embrace. When I was 20 I would have. I embraced everything. Thank heavens for penicillin.
See. I am kidding there. Am allergic to penicillin.
Tonight, even though I have another statistics book to proofread and I started it last night, I am going to make chicken soup for Ned. I already announced it to him heroically so now I can't back out. Am hoping it goes better than the pie I made for Ned. Oh, that was a disaster. Soup's not that hard, right? And stop throwing the word "stock" at me.
I guess that's all I have to tell you, other than Ned sounds like Harvey Fierstein, and I use that example EVERY time someone has a cold and I need new lines desperately. He keeps saying his cold is not that bad, and I had to talk him into not going for a bike ride in the cold rain last night. The cold November rain.
You are completely welcome.
