Happy Tuesday, and welcome to another edition of Random. Try as I may to make it otherwise, random is all I’ve got.
I spent most of the weekend with a sore throat and a whopper of a headache, so much so that around 10:00 Saturday morning I turned the kiddos over to their daddy and crawled back into bed. The dreaded sinus monster reared its ugly head as it does every few months and left me feeling as though there were a balloon in my throat every time I tried to swallow.
When it wasn’t better Sunday morning I hauled myself to a minor med clinic. I am now armed with all kinds of prescriptions and am on the road to recovery…until the same thing happens again in about three months and the fun starts all over.
In the happy news department, I have an appointment to have my hair cut and colored Saturday. The last time I had my hair cut, I wrote about it here. This time, I’m going back to my regular guy who’s been cutting my hair since my senior year in college. In those days, I could call from Starkville as late as Wednesday and make an appointment for Friday afternoon and never have to worry about him not being able to work me in. My, how things have changed. I’ve had to wait over two weeks since making my appointment, and this sistuh is in serious need of hair therapy.
It’s been five months, count ‘em ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR-FIVE, since he’s cut and colored my hair. My roots have practically grown out to my ears. Small planes are confusing the color change for a landing strip. I’m afraid to leave the house without a hat on.
I’m thinking of getting a whole bunch of hair lopped off this time. All I need is enough to straighten and pull back into a ponytail. I’d go ahead and go for a short haircut if (A) my face weren’t as long as Mr. Ed’s, and (B) my hair weren’t so stinkin’ curly. On rainy and/or humid days, I prefer not to be mistaken for a horse with a really bad kinky perm.
Last week after Small Fry and I picked Tater Tot up from Parent’s Day Out, I decided it was time for all three of us to venture out to some sort of store. I’ve been avoiding it out of nothing but pure fear. I’m not afraid to admit that I’m a big honking chicken. Plus, just how much shopping can you do when one of you takes up the entire basket?
It would be so much easier if I could simply drive my nerdy station wagon around Target instead of having to use a cart, but the new one has those big red concrete balls in front of the store and they’re totally in the way.
The trip through Target was easier than I imagined. Small Fry never made a peep, but his brother more than made up for it. At one point I was looking at some Bermuda shorts and he said, “No, Mama. You don’t need those.” I think his Daddy has been coaching him behind my back.
As sad and pitiful as it is, I think I only have three randoms in me for now.
I have to go outside now, walk to the street, and get the mail.
Let me just grab my hat.