This is me hiding behind my phone. I was actually trying to take a photo of my hair so my daughter could okay it before I went out in public. I know, a grown woman shouldn't need permission to be seen in public, but this sort of stuff just seems to happen to me...
My husband and I were going on our once-a-year social event outing this past weekend. For some background, I will admit to being only a step or two away from being a hermit. I go to work and grocery shopping and all that, but aside from those things, I'm perfectly happy to stay at home (well, unless you're talking travel and/or beaches, then I'm all about not staying home). Usually I have everything I need to entertain myself - my macrame supplies, my television and the Internet. What more could a girl want (other than the aforementioned beaches)?
I pitched that argument to my husband, but he still thought I needed to put in an appearance at the holiday party his office holds annually. They even do it in January, so I can't use the excuse that I'm too busy with holiday preparations and all that. *sigh* Don't you hate it when people are so darned reasonable?
I tried telling him he could go without me, but he said people around the office are starting to talk. Like maybe he killed me and hid the body or something, since nobody from his office has seen me for a year and a half. I swear for the first couple of years he was stationed here people whispered that he wasn't even really married, that he made me up. That led to me having to put in appearances at several consecutive events. I've since learned my lesson and now I try to time them out - go to just enough to squelch the rumors...
Anyway, once it became clear that I would have to go, I decided a haircut would help matters. Good looking hair can be a real self confidence booster (or so I've heard). When I called for an appointment (the day before the event because I didn't want to face the fact that I was going to have to go to the event...) my regular stylist wasn't available. I'm not that fussy about my hair, so I booked with the stylist who had an opening. All good, right?
On Saturday (the day of) I made one last-ditch effort to get out of going. I have had a cold for almost two weeks now and haven't been feeling great. Maybe I'm not feeling well enough to go to the party (said in most hopeful voice)? No dice.
So I showed up at the salon and the new young gal asked what I wanted done with my hair. Of course I had no plan (I need a make-over. I need someone to basically take over my appearance for me and just decide what the heck to do with my hair and do it. And then come over every morning and do it for me. M'kay?) I told her I just needed it trimmed up and then styled since I had a party to go to, and off we went. Then this happened:
What the heck? My daughter's reaction to this photo was, (and I quote) "What happened to your head?" Followed immediately by "Oh no!" and "You can't wear that bump!" Now, I don't mean to trash talk the stylist. She was (is) a very nice young lady and I'm sure she did a fabulous job on this hairstyle and I'm sure it looks great on many ladies. It's not for me, though. I feel like this:
Okay, so not green and mottled, but scaly skin (it's dry in Nebraska in the winter) and the head protrusion. Well, crud. Add tiny, deep-set eyes and wrinkly neck to the list of similarities, too. *sigh*
Here I am 30 minutes before the party looking like an extra from a B-52s video or a 1960's throwback. (Although some women looked pretty swell in a beehive - my mom (on the right) rocked it)!
But, we're not in the 70's anymore, Toto. The hair bulge had to go. Oh, and my husband was no help (seriously, his laughing wasn't helpful).
I can feel you all rolling your eyes. I know, I know... the obvious solution would be to simply smash down the bump. Right? Let me tell you, that's easier said than done. She used over a dozen products in my hair, one or more of which must have contained actual cement. No amount of smashing worked. That bump had some serious staying power! I tried brushing through it with limited success. I did finally manage to flatten it slightly, vacillating between tears and hysterical laughter.
At this point, I tried the I-can't-go-to-a-party-looking-like this tactic (it seemed like it might work). My husband, kind and considerate soul that he is, said we could be fashionably late if I need more time to redo my hair. I considered showering and starting all over, but ain't nobody got time for that (one of my favorite quotes)! A little more brushing and some fluffing on the sides and I got to this:
Which is good enough in my book, and daughter-approved. And that, my friends, is the story of the Great Bump Debacle of 2016.