Bad Hair Days

The worst has happened. I had a haircut gone bad on Thursday of this week and have yet to appear in public since.

Men have no idea the power of the bad hair day. I almost managed to explain it once to my husband. I was in a foul mood because it was raining out and my hair looked like road kill after a storm. He was, to say the least, not sympathetic.

"I don't understand why you place so much value on your hair," he said. "Hair doesn't say anything about your values or who you are as a person. Why does it matter?"

I dropped the brush and comb and turned to glare at him. "Because women are judged much more than men on their appearance, and hair is a big part of that."

"I think you do it to yourself," he said smugly.

I walked a step forward. "So are you telling me," I asked, "that how your hair looks plays absolutely no part in your day."

"Yes, that's right," he said.

"So you don't think people judge you by your hair, and you're not at all affected by what your hair looks like?" I asked again.

"Exactly," he answered.

"Fine," I said. "You're telling me that if I asked you to shave both sides of your head and dye the top bright red, you'd have no problem with it because how your hair looks doesn't matter one little bit to you and doesn't affect at all how you're seen?"

"Um," said my husband.

I raised my eyebrows and looked at him.

"Okay, in that very extreme example, yes, I probably would feel uncomfortable."

"Well that's what women feel like daily," I said. "A bad hair day is like going out in public with a reverse purple mohawk and waiting to see what people think."

We don't talk much about hair anymore.

Still, Thursday's haircut was a bad one. Well, I shouldn't say bad. My hairdresser is very skilled and even though the cut is much too short for my liking, it's still a good cut in that it has some style to it. It's just WAY shorter than I wanted.

Think of Sharon Stone's spikey little haircut and go about 1/2 an inch shorter all the way around and that's what I'm dealing with.

Plus, I don't look like Sharon Stone.

Luckily, I like short hair. I flatter myself that you have to have a certain confidence to pull it off. Short hair, styled right, is very sexy-looking. Again, I think it's because you have to radiate a confidence that says, "I have hair the length of chipmunk fur but I'm still a woman."

And my hair grows fast. Two weeks, and it will probably be at the length I wanted in the first place. So all is not lost.

But that doesn't mean you may not hear, just for a short while, quiet weeping sounds coming from behind the bathroom door.

Bathroom Etiquette

Ladies, we need to talk.

Auntie Dena is here to listen to your woes and make you a better person. But you have to work with me on this. And many of you are working not for me but against me, specifically when it comes to bathroom etiquette. I apologize for my bluntness, but some of you out there are not getting the message, so let me be crystal clear:

WIPE THE SEAT OFF WHEN YOU'RE DONE PEEING.

It astounds me this is a behavior that must be pointed out to people. Are there really households out there where it's acceptable to leave a spray of urine across the seat for the next person to come across? I think not.

I understand what's going on, and I applaud your efforts. I too, squat and hover, thigh muscles clenching in protest as I beg my trembling legs to hold on for just a moment more as I scramble for toilet paper that has no beginning and no end, but rather just spins on its cylinder, never giving me a starting point to start ripping.

My derriere has not touched a public bathroom seat in the last twenty years. But if, after the hover, I find I have left a drop or two behind, I show common courtesy by WIPING IT UP. Yes, it's gross, but if I don't want to clean up after myself, I more than understand why the person after me would want to even less.

So show some decency, common courtesy, and what has to be considered pretty much the lowest baseline of manners, and wipe it up.

You're ticking the rest of us off.

Working Full-Time - Exhausting!

I am beat. Too tired to move, too tired to eat, even--and this shows you the true depth of my exhaustion--too tired to play with the cats. What accounts for this mental/physical exertion? I've been working full-time.

Thankfully it's only a one-week gig. I live near the furniture capital of the world, or some such nonsense, and twice a year there occurs what is known as Showtime Fabric Market.

It's huge. People come from all over the world to view rooms and rooms and floors and floors of fabric samples and accessories. It's mainly a lot of furniture and clothing companies, coming to buy new lines for the season.

So what is our beloved writer doing here? Folding fabric samples.

I swear it's true. For a nice hourly wage, these companies need people to fold fabric swatches back into manageable order after their reps display them. It's repetitive, anti-mental work that makes me deeply, deeply appreciate my regular writing life. Still, a group of friends and I decided we could use the extra cash and signed up for the week. However, the showroom is about an hour from my home, so factoring in drive time there and back plus the workday, I'm at just over a 12-hour day.

I know--wah. Lots of people have it worse. I agree. I'm just sharing my perspective.

I used to work full-time away-from-home jobs, but apparently I've lost the knack. If I worked full-time outside the home now, I think my marriage would suffer. As proof, I offer a peek at our conversation last night.

I walked in the door about 7 pm. My husband met me with a big smile and a hug. "How'd it go?" he asked.

I put him at arm lengths and held a finger to my lips. "What I need from you," I said, "is the remote, a hot tea, and complete silence for the next two hours."

Oh yes, I am loads of fun to be around.

I will share that I'm embarrassed how quickly my ego reared its ugly head. I like to think of myself as someone not overly attached to job titles. But in my first five minutes there I admit I wanted to wear a badge that read, "Ask me about my Masters degree."

Something to think about.

I left a bit early today as I'm teaching a 3-hour public speaking course tonight. Tired or not, I always look forward to those. So I'm off to make some copies and finish my prep work. Then after class I'll get a good night's sleep.

I better. I've got about a 1,000 fabric samples with my name on them waiting to greet me tomorrow.

Cleaning Day

Back in the days of our courtship, Friday nights meant dinner out and holding hands during a movie. Ten years into the marriage, Friday nights now mean "Scrubbing bubbles" and the smell of Lysol. That's right, Friday night is cleaning night.

Aside from a quick vacuum and cursory dust, we used to be able to go for almost a month without having to do a heavy-duty cleaning. We're neat people by nature, and tend to clean up after ourselves as we go. All that ceased to matter however, when we got cats.

The first cat wasn't so bad. We noticed some extra hair around the house and instigated an "every-other" week cleaning policy, which we did on Sundays. (Go to church all you want--nothing brings God closer to me than waking up Monday morning to a spotless house).

Then we got cat number two.

She looks innocent enough. Fairly small, a tabby, big round eyes that plead innocence to every wrong doing. How were we to know she was little more than a 24/7 shedding machine?

Day three after she was with us we realized big changes were in order. We started a weekly cleaning. With both of us working top speed, non-stop, we can have the house clean (floors swept, tubs polished, trim dusted) in about 3 hours. Every other day of the week, I love our home. On Fridays, I can be found cursing as I run the vacuum, wondering aloud why is it exactly we think we need so much d*@# space??

We soon realized though, that the weekly cleaning wasn't doing the trick. We'd put the finishing touches on a room, walk out and then hear a "fwhump!" as the kitten walked by and deposited two tons of new hair on the floor.

Back to the drawing board.

So we took it back down to every other week. Might as well, for all the difference the weekly cleaning makes. And we do make efforts to roll the couch (to get rid of excess cat hair), wipe out sinks, and do a mid-week vacuum.

Still, I miss the days of being able to clean out of desire versus stark necessity.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get an early start on cleaning. I think I'll need it. If I'm not mistaken, I just heard several loud "fwhump" noises in the hall.