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Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Scribbles and Scrambles - Bad Idea - Part 4

Not only did I have to go to work on Slick Thursday, but I had two other must-dos. My writing support group meeting and a trip to the mall to pick up my daughter's engraved graduation locket couldn't be missed.

I pulled my greasy Medusa locks into a messy ponytail. Copped a little swagger, and projected the "I meant to do that" attitude and I hurried to the jewelry store.

I don't know if it was the glare from the overheads that caught everyone's eye, or if it was the eau du salad wafting behind me, but I pretty much had everyone's attention. Did I mention that I had begun rinsing with vinegar after each futile shampoo post cornstarch dump?

With my prized locket clutched in my hand, I hurried to the car and braced myself for one last frontier.

We meet in the coffee shop of a large Christian bookstore. Had this Vaseline incident happened today, I'd share it with the group and we'd have a good laugh, and talk about the stories that could come out of it.

But this particular meeting was only my fourth, ever. Published, intimidating authors populated the group.

I arrived fashionably late and slide into an open chair. All eyes fastened on me. I froze and eked out a tiny princess wave.

No one asked, though subtle sniffs seemed to come from my writer friends as they walked past my chair. And I caught many odd glances, but I didn't say a word.

Survival strengthened me.

On Friday, my locks still squirmed like Medusa's on a bad hair day. Shirlee breezed in with a perfect coif and a giggle. I hummed "I Will Survive."

By Sunday, the surface of my hair was dry to the touch. A week later it shone and luxuriated around my shoulders.

The benefits lasted about two days, then I had to pay for the harsh treatment.

Come back next week and I'll share what I learned while I was greasy.

2 comments:

Heather Smith said...

Kelly, I love your writing style! Sorry this had to happen to you but thanks for the laugh I got from the way you wrote it!! Have a good one!!

Janet Rubin said...

Wonderful story Kelly. Almost makes me want to do something really, really stupid so I can write about it!