I am currently still on the fence about the enormity of the series of events I write about next. I will be consulting an educated panel of people to help with this calamity. Mostly my most honest, bestest friends and maybe my doctor. If I can get them to take me seriously.
The other day I had a necessary, much needed appointment with my hairdresser. Most of you know the “necessary” in what I am saying. (Oh what I would give just to have dark roots again! Seriously.) Anyway, my hairdresser usually spends a great deal of time with a straight iron taming the Fantastic Frizz but this time I just did not have the patience to sit there while she painstakingly flat ironed 12 pieces of hair at a time so I asked her to just blow dry it so I could run. Well, I got home and expected to see the same Rosanna Anna Danna I usually see in the mirror after I dry my hair but NO……. hair looked fabulous. What? How could this be? She just honestly used a brush and a blow dryer and nothing else. She has some kind of magical talent because I have never been able to do this to my hair and trust me, I have tried! So I think to myself (yes, that’s a song lyric and the first in many mistakes I am about to make) I should take a picture of this hair so I can do this by myself. Oh dear. I take a few pictures and am quite satisfied that I have captured the image I need to use later. Then I look at the photos. Holy batshit! Is that me? What the hell happened to my face? THAT is clearly not the chick I see in the mirror every day! So I text the old boy, who is at work (possibly mistake 3 or 4 at this point) and tell him that I just took a picture of myself and hello– When did I have a stroke? Clearly the person in the picture has had either super bad plastic surgery or had a mild stroke! One half of her face is lower than the other! I have been walking around all crooked faced and probably drooling and no one has said a word!
I get a text back quite some time later that reads only: Really? That’s it. Honestly, I was sort of expecting a reply that said something to the effect of “Last year, you didn’t notice? Ha ha” or “You have always looked like a stroke victim. Ha ha.” (notice I put the “ha ha’s” in there to offset the obvious uncomfortableness of the topic?) I talk to him on the phone some time later and I ask him about his lack of response (not to mention lack of sense of humor. Seriously? I would have been all over that!) to this question and you know what he says? “I’m not touching that one. I’ll just get into trouble.” Really dude? Do you know what that response has done to my damaged Ego and dwindling self esteem? Permanently killed both. They packed up and went somewhere non-lopsided. I am left with a shelf full of self loathing and a shattered sense of what I thought I looked like.
I spend the rest of the night watching Cake Boss and wondering if my deformity will straighten up if I finish that open bottle of wine in the fridge or should I double check the eyebrows? Maybe they are just crooked? Forget the new roof, forget college tuition and forget expensive sports tuition – this girls lookin for a plastic surgeon (of course after I have cleared up the possible stroke issue and had a piece of cake).
