Men, Women, and the Importance of Your "Hair look"

Advice on life from a 5 year old.   I hear you laughing, but you might be surprised on how good that advice can be.  

I had my two pretend grand babies this week.  24-7 for 9 days.  All these days were good, full, hilarious and exhausting.

One night Abigail decided to comb my hair before bed.  Combing Abigail's hair is always full of drama.  Her hair is very long, and beautiful, and she does NOT like it if you have to work out tangles.  My hair, on the other hand, is very fine and not too long, and she was amazed at how easy it was to comb.

So picture the scene, we are both in fuzzy pajama's, I am sitting on my bed, facing my dresser mirror, and she is standing behind me, combing out my hair, bouncing occasionally, and we are talking to each other in the mirror.  Why?  Because I can't turn my head.  It's a thing with her.  Abigail has rules, and they will be followed.

Once she got into the rhythm, she seemed to channel a hair-dresser, and she started telling me that in order to get a boy to love me and marry me, I needed to have a good "hair look".  

This made me roar with laughter, and liking that response, she really got into the role.

She has a lot of dramatic flair, and she immediately flashed her eyes at me and said "THAT's why that man (she didn't specify, and I was unsure if I had a role also or she was really talking about me) mar-wied some other girl, because he didn't like your HAIR look!" 

(Nodding her head wisely and making eye contact)

I laughed even harder and moved my head, which she immediately righted to her own satisfaction once again)

"You're hair should be long and beautiful, and then boys will fall in love with you all the time, because they will like you're HAIR look." (Making sure I had absorbed this nugget--I had).  "That's why boys fall in love and want to mar-wie me all the time, because my hair is long and beautiful."  Taking a moment to focus on her own hair and stroke it, staring into the mirror.

"But, but, what if I don't want to be married?" I asked.

Incredulous look, as if she was wondering about my intelligence, shaking her head, with furrowed brow, "Well, you need to find a husband to protect you, because it's your job to take care of the children, and us (meaning her and Rose), and the dogs and everything." She waved her arms around to indicate everything, as if I needed reminding---which I did not. "And so you need a man to PROTECT you."

I had to admit she made a good point.  She would not hear any argument about my having guns to protect myself either.  "That's not the same.  That's for in case you HAVE to protect yourself."

I choose to go along and take the advice, because this was getting better and better as the moments went by.

I pointed out that one thing I hated worse than anything in life was cleaning the bathroom.  She thought I was getting off topic and so I mentioned that ALL boys pee on the floor a little bit right in front of the stool, and I hate cleaning it up.

This stopped her for a few minutes.  "ALL boys pee on the floor???"  She did not want to accept this.

"Yep." I confirmed.  Forewarned is forearmed is my motto, and I don't believe in sugar coating the most basic facts of life.

"Well", making a brushing away move with her hands, "I will find you one who doesn't pee on the floor."

More laughter from me.

We compromised, with me telling her she would never find such a man, but if she could find one who would just clean it up, we would have a deal.

BIG mistake.  This sent her into channeling the most ancient of all female spirits, you know, the one who just sticks to the facts and will hear no argument for "modern theory"?  Do you now know this spirit?  It doesn't matter: she knows you.  In fact, she changed your diapers.

She shook her head back and forth, almost sadly, and explained to me that "It's your job to clean, and keep the house nice, and cook and take care of the children, so he can protect you, because being a mother is the most important job in the world."

Ah.  I had it now: "So, I grow my hair to be long and beautiful, like your's, a man will like my hair look, marry me, and protect me, and I will always have to clean the bathroom."

Nodding happily, brushing my hair once again, "Yes, that's right........ and you're hair is getting much longer."

So there you have it, folks, the sure path to love and protection.

It's all about the "hair look".

I don't know why we keep trying to make it so hard.  

Do you?

You can always just ask you're own grandmother, but the advice will probably be the same and you will not get as thorough of a comb out. 

By appointment only, we have bathroom's to clean. :D

Sweet Nothings

Me, putting my makeup on while the Cyclist stands beside me looking through his phone for a picture:  "MY GOD!  Have you seen these dark circles under my eyes?!!"

Without looking up or missing a beat, the Cyclist replies "They are beautiful.  I look forward to seeing them every morning."

Good answer, aye?  This is just one of the joys of dating when you are older.  I guess I can say we are dating.  Whatever it is, we've been doing it for five very happy and hardly ever dramatic years.

Once, after we had both been diligently working on trying to get a piece of Saran wrap unstuck for 15 or 20 minutes, I said "I miss seeing more than just about anything, don't you?"  and he looked me straight in the eye and replied "Huh?" because another one  of those joys is that the men usually can't hear about half of what you say.  This can be a wonderful thing, considering that half of the things I say either don't really matter in the first place or are statements that could lead to deep conversations which men don't really enjoy to begin with.  Also, you can get them to agree to things that if they had heard you right to begin with, they would probably never have agreed to in the first place.  This only works as long as they are still pretending they can hear, though. 

Sadly, the Cyclist and I have now passed that point.  We now negotiate like professionals. 

For example:  The Cyclist asks what we are going to eat.  I give him two options (no more than two or it will take forever) like spaghetti or tenderloins.  If one of the choices involve getting out of the house and going to the store, the other choice is the obvious winner, since neither one of us likes getting out of the house, let alone going to the store. 

Should he pick the choice that involves going to the store, I will resist that choice.  He will offer to drive me to the store, picking me up and waiting at the curb, but will refuse to get out of the car to go into the store.  I will finally agree to go into the store.  This has become our habit.  Why he would agree to get out of the house long enough to get into the car and back out again, but refuse to go into the store is beyond my understanding.  I would never agree to that because it makes no sense to me.  To me, it would be easier to just do it myself.  This has become our routine and I just accept it.  I enjoy the curb service, and I have the strangest feeling that I may have agreed to something I "thought" he said.......