This is sitting on my stairs right now.
It arrived in the mail the other day and my family has been laughing at me for ordering it.
Here’s how that happened:
I’m in that stage of life where about every 8 weeks I have to make a hair care decision.
I have gray hair induced by either starting a non-profit or my teen daughter’s closet. I’m not sure, both stress me out.
And yet, I’m thankful to have hair. #1000giftsbaby
I was contemplating my first world problem, trying to decide if I was brave enough to attempt home hair color again. The last time I bought the wrong color and had to have my husband repair it. Yes, that is a statement I never thought I’d type. And by repair, I mean I bought a different color to cover up the accident and made my husband put on the plastic gloves. We nearly ended up in marriage counseling and I had really highlighted hair.
My husband must have sniffed out my thought process because he insisted I go to a professional.
While I sat in her chair of ministry and let her bless my hair follicles (anyone else love a good head massage?), she worked her magic and all my hair was brown again. I casually mentioned how tired I was of blow drying my hair straight. My arms: they are lazy. What is it with all my real problems? She said, well, you have a lot of natural curl, why don’t I throw in a few layers and you can start wearing it curly. I have been wanting to grow my hair out to pony tail length anyway and thought WHY NOT. Clearly, I live on the edge.
So in a matter of two hours, I went back to my natural hair color and walked out with curly hair.
And when I walked into my house, my little girl burst into tears, my teen daughter’s mouth gaped and my son said, “Is this a joke?”
Nothing like your kids to snap you right out of a hair care induced high.
A week later I was shopping at my beloved Target and I was deep in thought reading the back of hair product bottles for curly hair. Who knew there were so many products? I was going for soft waves not stiff wet ones. So, you know, important stuff.
My back was to my cart and I never saw the pony-tailed guy dressed in black walk right behind me and take my wallet out of my purse.
It’s hard to pay for your FUNKY CURLS without a wallet.
I called my husband and retraced my steps. Long story short (aren’t you glad?), we watched the video surveillance tape of me being pickpocketed. I hope he enjoyed the three bucks and book of stamps. (It ended up being a nightmare because I had my kids Social Security cards in my wallet. Y’all don’t do that, okay? Learn from me. We know have Lifelock to protect their identity from being stolen because we’re nice parent’s like that.)
After we filed a police report, canceled credit cards, and spent two hours on the phone, we were exhausted. Seriously, it was a bad day and you hear all this stuff about identity theft and when it happens to you, it makes you feel violated and unsure about the world you live in. My hubby returned to work and when my kids got home, I filled them in on my day. My son wanted to know what the robber looked like. I had him at surveillance video.
“He wore all black and had a long blonde greasy pony tail,” I said.
“I think it’s my percussion teacher!” my son yelled. Oh, brother. “No, son, it’s not your teacher, although he should wash his hair more often.
That night I realized I never did get my hair care product so I opened up my computer to head to Amazon, but got distracted by a news story on my home page. It was a sad story about a family dying in a house fire because the mom couldn’t get to her kids upstairs. Just the kind of thing you want to read about after your wallet’s been stolen and your kids sleep upstairs.
And that’s how I ended up with a fire escape ladder.
Y’all can totally follow my train of thought.