McDreamy Hair

This really sounds absurd and slightly unbelievable. The first time it happened and I told Skip he laughed at me, told me I was confused, and after I insisted its truth, called me a liar. So I'm going to list the facts and provide the evidence, draw your own conclusion (the correct conclusion will be found at the end of this post).

Facts:

• Skip has "McDreamy Hair" which he routinely cuts down to a military style in our kitchen.
• It is difficult to clean up all those strands of hair even with sweeping, vacuuming, and mopping.
• I have a fear of needles.
• This fear causes me to faint and started when I was 8 or 9 and attempting to remove a splinter. I fell into the opened bathroom closet from which I had just retrieved a sewing needle.
• Tonight there is a newly dug divot in the pad of my foot.
• Underneath that there is a sliver of Skip's coarse hair.

Walking around barefoot in the kitchen tonight I obtained a splinter, two to be exact. I assumed that I had a small cut or had stepped on a shard of glass. Upon closer inspection I saw two strands of dark brown hair under the thin skin layers of the ball of my foot. Seriously. That happens to people, people like me. 

Only one strand was sticking out slightly, the other required the help of a needle. Except that hair, unlike a true splinter, breaks easily. Very, very, very easily. So both hair splinters needed to be lifted to the surface with a needle. That lifting (hair splinters are in an "L"in the middle of my foot) included the ripping and tearing of skin that created a divot. Unfortunately the combination of bad vision, bad lighting, and nearly blacking out leaves only one solution: to keep a piece of Skip under my thumb foot at all times.

Spider's Nest

I sat in a too small chair watching two small girls vie for social dictator of the small group. I mindlessly picked at my split ends while casually eavesdropping and mentally remembering my own group of friends and the social positions we held. I’m still not sure how I fit in, but even then I picked at my split ends only half listening to what my friends said. Possibly a nod to my warp-speed maturity, more likely the beginning of my diluted form of trichotillomania.

Then something caught my attention. Diva One tossed her hair and in a sassy and matriarchal voice too old for her cherub cheeks asked if the table would like to hear a story her mom had told her, a true story that really did happen. Among the ohhs and ahhs heads bobbed up and down and the circle tightened. I cocked my head in wonder.

The story unfolded like this: There was a young girl and she never brushed her hair. And her mom took her to a hair lady who cuts hair. The haircut lady said that a spider lived in the girl's hair and then it bit her head.

At this point my mind was reeling thinking back to my slumber party days and the urban tale of a zit that was actually a spider's egg. An unfortunate teenage drama when that sucker hatched. But now the story's changed or someone my age has twisted the story to her advantage. Scare tactics work in raising children. Diva One did wear her hair in a glossy updo that day. I chuckled and went about my eavesdropping but switched to listening to the boys playing with trains. Not much more than a chuga-chuga over there.

A short while later I rapidly crossed the parking lot eager to leave the germy miscreants for the sanctity of my car, when an unsuspecting creature in flight tried to soar through my dreadful black locks. Years ago I carefully brushed 100 strokes through three sections of my waist-length hair. Now I give an obligatory sweep a couple times a week. My how the vain have fallen.

A fall that concludes with the bug fighting my tresses and victoriously freeing itself while I maneuvered around cars in the parking lot. Maybe you've seen Tommy Boy. Maybe you remember the bees. Maybe I lived it.