I opened the bathroom door the other day, and pointed out to Mr W, "Man, I've got a lot of hair." I'd just blowdried it and it was pretty big. He started laughing. Okay, not really the response I was looking for, but I could understand. He commented that it had been a long time since he'd seen me with that much hair.
And he likes it. He, who never has an opinion about these things, likes it. I know he does. Not because he perfunctorily answers "yes" when I ask, but because of something that happened the other night.
The rated G version is: He asked me a question. I looked up, and did that head shake, you know, to get the bangs out of my eyes, so I could see him. The look he got on his face, was very seventeen year old boy. In the sense of one who is sneaking a peek down my shirt, grinning like he'd like to not get slapped. Who wouldn't dig that?
Anyway, I had an regular appointment yesterday, for a haircut and to touch up the color. I was looking forward to it, as all girls do, and had made sure he'd be home to watch Audrey. Everything in order, I left with plenty of time to get there...and for some reason looked at my appointment card in the driveway.
I always double check these things the night before. Always. But not this time.
Oh, no. Appt time: noon. I'm in the driveway, 15 minutes from salon: 12:18. No, no, no, it's supposed to be at 12:30. Ladies, you know the feeling that struck my heart right at that moment, don't you?
I call the hairdresser, and apologize all over the place; luckily she's in good humor, and says she'll still get me in for the trim, but that's all she'd be able to manage. No problem. I'll color later. Crisis averted.
How did I manage that? Who knows. But I tell myself to get over it, that it's just one of those days.
So why did this follow me into today?
Today, I woke up with an earache. I've been fighting a bug that got worse over the course of last week, coughing and not sleeping. I'd get through another day, another night: "I'm not sick." "I'm not that sick." "I don't have a fever, this will pass."
Ha. Earache = call the doctor, dumbass. I was so surprised when the girl said "we have an appointment at 10:30" that I said, "I'll take it" and didn't reverify before we hung up. Hurriedly, I jump in the shower, and head on over...just a couple of minutes (okay, ten) late. I'm thinking I'm about to receive a lecture when the receptionist calls me up.
"We have you down for 10:30." I ready my pleas. "10:30, tomorrow."
Oh, no way. No way I've done this two days in a row.
I explain to her that I understand that there's been a misunderstanding, but could I see someone else because the ear really hurts. Bless her, she got me in at 2:30. I figured I'd drop the garage door opener to Nolan (whose face lit up at the sight of it: "Cool! We're walking?") and let them battle amongst themselves afterschool until I returned.
This time, I was on time. I think the PA was in the room with me five minutes. Amazing, how five minutes didn't seem too few, especially when he offered me cough syrup with codeine. "Yes. Yes, Yes, I'll take it." I wanted to kiss him.
Uninterrupted sleep is never to be taken lightly, you know.
And now I'm off, to pour myself a shotglass, I mean a teaspoon, of medicine that'll escort me into dreamland.
That is, if I don't drop the bottle and break it once I get to the kitchen.
Because, as I mentioned before, in my house, 'dork' is spelled with two 'n's.