Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Well, team, it's official. I am the best housewife with no kid ever.
My palms are sweating, my hands shaking (not a joke, it is actually impeding my already abysmal typing). I just won a Very Important ebay auction. Let me tell you, it was heated. I had a lot riding on this one. Perhaps a bit of background would be helpful. My spouse has very large and very flat feet. Perhaps more interestingly, they also have one extra bone each, which causes troubles including, but not limited to, crippling back pain. The only shoes that have ever been helpful are Birkenstocks, but during the long, often snowy winters, they just don't cut it. You may suggest that he simply invest in some Birkenstock shoes, but you would be informed that, although your suggestion was not terrible, sadly Birkenstock does not use the same footbed in their regular shoes as they do in their sandals. We discovered this after having the same idea you had and paying to ship them to our house...and back from whence they came. We have shopped and shipped like madmen, desperate for shoes to replace the pair R has worn every day, without significant exception, for the last seven years. Their life is about to terminate, and the manufacturer had made the egregious error of discontinuing them. What were we to do?
Then it hit me: Earth shoes. With a negative heel similar to Birkenstock's but even more pronounced, surely R's arches would receive adequate support, his knees and back would cease hurting, and there would be no need to pay for shipping any more superfluous shoes. Now, to find a pair. There is only one store in Utah that sells men's styles, so we made the pilgrimage only to find ourselves in a tiny supplements store (picture Burt's Bees products, endless Dairy Whey Protein Powder, and a man with shaved muscular arms offering to assist us) that had an out of place though invaluable section in the back containing hundreds of Earth shoes for men. R tried them. He loved them. They cost more than aforementioned estimate for a month's worth of my hair maintenance. Thus ebay. Fueled by animosity for the other bidders (why were they jacking up the price even though I was certain to be the winner?), I won in the end. $45 for my victory and worth every penny, although I will admit that my sensitive system is not accustomed to such adrenaline. I kind of liked it, but I apologize as it seems to have fanned the flame of my verbosity.
Please, everyone, pray hard that they are perfect, R loves them, and we can quit shoe shopping for another seven years.
My mother shook her head and scrunched her nose, "Oh, A, no! You wouldn't want to cut it short?!? Not short?!? Would you?"'
I was amused that she thought I would keep my hair for vanity's sake. I haven't worn deodorant for the past three months, I never shave my legs and, let's be honest, a week when I shower more than twice is a hygienic triumph. But, it's funny, I was kinda attached to my goldilocks. Far and away my most complimented feature, it was not uncommon for total strangers to approach me and stroke my hair, murmuring about how thick it was. And they were right. Thick and blonde, rare and foolishly coveted. Perhaps they did not know what it was like to choose between an hour sweating under a blowdryer or forty eight with wet hair. Perhaps they did not know what three feet of horse mane feels (smells) like after a week without washing because there just simply wasn't time. Either way, I did, and I was done. Shorn like a sheep, mildly traumatized, but free as could be.
The only trouble is that my uncontrollable mop has been shooting from its follicles at a rabid rate. The first week the haircut was nice and manageable, but by the second week it had grown out to three time's its volume and twice its length and now, three weeks in, it looks, near as I can estimate, like a cross between Madonna at the 2003 MTV video music awards and a porcupine. The problem is mainly financial. At the rate I am going, for my hair to remain low-maintenance it must be maintained at a monthly expenditure of $110 dollars.
Anyone want to practice cutting hair on mine? I have nothing to lose, because if it turns out looking hideous, by the next week it should be ready for another shearing.
P.S. Surprise, mom! I cut my hair, but I made you a blog to make up for it! See, look what I can do with all the time I save not having to blowdry!
I find myself in quite the quandary. It seems that people no longer see each other's actual faces, but instead keep in touch through elaborate, artistic, eloquent blogging acrobatics. I sometimes think I should just buy a bus ticket to go visit my estranged friends rather than simply visiting their blogs and calling it good. Still, I find I am surprisingly able to keep up on the daily excitements of children whom I have never met, admire homes which I have never seen, copy recipes I have never smelled nor tasted, and covet household crafty creations I would never dare attempt myself. Blogs can be, really, quite fun.
I would wager many of these friends to not even know that they are being kept in touch with, but I sure like to amuse myself by reading about their life's adventures, all the while ignoring the dearth of my own. Although I believe Thoreau got it right, and it is better to get moving than to get blogging, it's easier to blog than to move. So here we go: ready, set, blog.