Happy Father's Day

Today at Castle Allen we’re not only excited to celebrate my son’s 14^th Birthday but it’s also Father’s Day.  I was thinking about all the Father’s Days and realize that Big Chief has had to miss quite a few of those.   When he’s away we always try to make up for it and make him feel like he was here.  There’s always the big box that goes out 3 weeks before the actual date because with the mail going overseas could take 5 days to never to get there.  Its usually loaded with his favorite things; Cheerios, big tubes of chew, pictures of the kids and their finger paintings of Baby Girl’s hands to see how she’s grown and a pillow case that smells like Warm Vanilla Sugar.   Then we would wait for the phone call on a really crappy static land line or cell phone.    Its hard to fit a month’s worth of excitement and conversations into a 15-20 minute phone call. 

I’m thankful for his opportunities and that he’s the man that he is and his love for our country.  I knew the game when I married him.  I know my struggles and what I have to do for the kids.  I don’t think that we ever stop to think about what the guys go through when they walk out that door.  We’re so accustomed to men being the big protectors and not having feelings that It doesn’t sink in that when they get on a plane when their daughter is 3 months old, there’s a chance he won’t come back and that deep down inside, the biggest Big Chief is falling to pieces.   It’s probably what makes them hard like woodpecker lips.  Men can bury feelings.  I envy that to a degree.

Not only has Big Chief been a fantastic dad to his daughter but he welcomed my son into his life when he was only 5 years old.  You hear stories of the awful stepdads who did horrible things to their kids, but I found the exact opposite.  He was deployed for my son’s last full year in the cub scouts and came home during the Pine Car Derby!  He came straight from re-integrating into the real modernized world again to the event, uniform and stinky in toe, and was there to watch Braden’s poor lil car that I tried to help him win with get the Ugly Turtle award.   Through out the years they have grown close and developed a bond that I don’t have with my son.  He’s taught him what it means to be a man, a respectful man.  He’s tried to show him how to treat ladies by opening the door and saying thank you.  They started Archery together and just last night went on their first bow hunt.  I’m thankful that Braden has someone he can go to, no matter what and will be there for him.   Big Chief made Braden his “son”, not because it was convenient, not because he thought he would get some monetary benefit out of it, not to impress me…but because he cared and loves him.  There’s nothing more a mother could want for her babies than that, and for that, I’m truly grateful! 

For my daughter, she has her bestest friend and the guy who will make bodies disappear and we’ll never speak of again.  The man that she only has to look at with those big blue eyes and with that long drawn out southern draw say…DaaaddDEE, and he’s done.  Whatever she wants its gonna happen.  She knows how to work her magic with him.  Baby Girls are the only thing that can make a man hard like woodpecker lips start to cry at any given point in the day about any random thought.  It’s the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.  We can be in a full blown 3 alarm argument and she can say those magic words followed by….you’re the bestest daddy in the whole world…and he’s done.   I need to learn how to possess these magical powers.  I’ve seen him have a tea party and wear purple bunny ears, they have their daddy/daughter dates once a month, they’re crafting buddies and now they have their special times learning to swim.   There will never be a man that will ever live up to the magic that is daddy, and I know secretly down inside that makes Big Chief pretty ecstatic.   But his dreams of buying an RV and following her around the rest of her life while she pursues jet pilot status I may have to burn those, at some point I’d like to have my husband back to just me.  Who are we kidding, I’m going to be in an RV.

Today, we will celebrate a young man turning 14, a new stage in his life in becoming a man and we will celebrate Father’s Day with a man we all hope our daughters marry one day and our sons have for role models and best friends.  Happy Father's Day to all the Good Ones!!!!

It's OK not to be equal.

It’s only the middle of the week and the crazy on the Internet seems to be working overtime.   Sometimes I have to walk away from the Facebook and news sites and gain my composure and regroup.  It seems like this week I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching and rising above.  And the most common observation I have made is that people are really upset if you don’t think exactly like them and god forbid you have a differing opinion and then voice it.  Oh LORT, the amount of verbal diarrhea that’s about to come your way could fill rain barrel.  And for those of you like my very handsome but very smart ass handsome, that’s a big ole barrel that sits outside and collects the rain for your garden and flowers.  Yes it exists.  No, it’s not just a Yankee thing.

I couldn’t even begin to write about all the articles and conversations I’ve witnessed this week, so I will highlight, without trying to impose or be too overly political. If you don’t agree with me, this probably wont entertain you near as much as it does me and all my friends, in my head.   There was a conversation about a bill that has been passed in Congress that would allow women to be eligible to be drafted if the draft were ever reinstated.  Now as you can imagine this brought out some serious heated opinions.   The gist of this discussion was basically, should women be drafted, was it fair, are they equal, should they be and how would this affect their abilities to raise their children and be away from family?   You can imagine how the tempers flared with this one.    

So this particular topic hits a little close to home for me.  The main point that I had my head wrapped around was the idea that men and women are equal.   Big shocker, I don’t think they are.  And that’s ok.   It’s ok that we are not equal in all that we do.   Everything about us makes us different from one another.  Not just our gender, but everything, our entire DNA code makes us different.  And that’s ok.  I will never boost the feminist flag, mainly because I like bras.  They’re pretty and make the girls look good and I can’t imagine having to burn an $80 bra for the sake of womanhood.  I just can’t do it.  But just because I’m not a feminist doesn’t’ mean that I think women should be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen either.    Viva La Maids!!!!  Or do they like to be called something else now?  Every one is so sensitive these days with their labels.  I want to be able to proudly wear my fashionable Diane Keaton suit and go to the office and make a good living.  However, I don’t want to go on the battlefield and do a road march that could possibly mean me having to go #2 on the side of the road.  Oh no, that’s just not me.  

I realize that there are all those hardcore placenta-eating cross fitters out there that believe they can do anything a man can do.   And for that 0.00001% of you that can, ROCK ON!!!   But let’s just be real, that is not the normal.  And that’s ok.  Society today is trying to tell us that being “normal” is no longer acceptable.  Everyone is equal.  All the kiddies deserve a trophy.    It’s ok that little Susie didn’t dress like all the other little girls in the recital, she’s someone’s delicate snowflake who needs to stand out.  (Thanks Ms. Jami I borrowed that from you!)  I love my children with all my stony little heart.  But let’s face it; none of them are going to be Nobel Peace Prize winning kids.  They’re not.  And more than likely, neither are yours.   Now, I’m not going to tell them that.  I’ll do what good moms do.  I’m gonna lie lie lie!!!!   I know my kids limits, and Nobel Peace Prize, well that ain’t one.    Realistic goals, I just don’t want to be a grandma before they graduate high school and no one living in my basement when they’re 30.  I think those just might be attainable goals.  Reach for the stars kids!!

It’s also ok to be a loser.  What, that’s crazy talk!!!!  Yes, it’s ok to lose.  We can’t win everything we go out and do.  And what if we did, what’s the point?  What do you have to work towards or improve?  My daughter had tennis today.  She couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.  She got mad, threw her racket, stomped a little bit and then did what all little girls do, cried.  I’m sure there is some progressive movement out there to ensure that little girls never lose and cry and Mr. Tennis Coach would be publicly shamed but I was not in that place.  I hugged her and then I laughed.  It’s part of growing up kid.  You have bad days.  Shake it off, rub some dirt on it and look forward to the next day.  You won’t always win.  And that’s ok.   You won’t always get a trophy, but the one you do get will be special and you will cherish it.  

I want my daughter to know its ok to not be equal to a man.  You know what you get?  A man like your daddy!  We are not equal by any stretch of the imagination.  He’s hairy and smelly and makes weird noises and he’s loud.  But he’s also my protector and girls need to be protected sometimes.  He opens my car door!!!  Ok, this is pretty big on my list.  Every time.  He opens my car door.  And I always just sit there looking confused while he’s waiting on me to unlock his side.   And then he gets in and always yells…DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME I GOT IT!!  Its sweet how he talks to me sometimes.   Every day for the last 9 years without miss, he has told me he loves me and thinks I’m beautiful.  Even on my worst days.   Yes, no matter what kind of hard-core feminazi you are, every woman wants to be told they’re beautiful.  They do.   Doesn’t matter that you already know, we long for that validation.  It’s in our DNA  that makes us different.  I can shoot an intruder with accuracy and defend my Castle while he’s away and deployed, but that doesn’t take away the fact that I want a protector.  A man.  And that’s ok!!!    And he wants me, his delicate flower.  And by delicate I mean when I call him and scream bloody murder like a crazy person because there’s a snake outside that has me trapped in the house and he’s in California being all Mr. Hero Scout Pilot and I’m having a panic attack.  He loves it when that happens.  He clearly wasn’t being my protector that day.  But when he did come home, there wasn’t a man on the planet that couldn’t hide behind a tree waiving a shovel 15 feet away from the snake in the landscape bushes better than him.  That’s my loving man the protector.  (This is what happens when you marry helicopter pilots!)

Now just so there is no confusion on this whole women in the military business, I am by no means saying or suggesting that women shouldn’t be in the military.  I have dear friends that are women who served.  I applaud them.  Because let's face it…that was never the path I could do.  I’m really not into the whole camouflage uniform and I would never be able to get my hair in that slicked back bun thing and the hours??  Oh who are we kidding, all that yelling before the sun comes up, nah Drill Sergeant I’m good. I think they’re awesome for doing it.   They are all strong, independent, great women.  And I’m honored to know them and call them my friends.   And even though some of them are Army vets and some are Navy vets…its ok!  

We need to embrace our differences.  Play to your strengths but most importantly; we need to stop being so damn offended by everything.  Everything is going to be ok!

I would just like to poop in peace!

I realize that living in a house with three to five people at any given time its going to be hard to get that essential alone time, quiet.    Since my daughter turned 2…she’s 7 now…all personal space and modesty has gone out the window.  In the last 5 years I’m not sure I’ve had one bath or toilet time to myself.  And she doesn’t just have a question, sometimes she does, but for the most part she wants to come in sit down and have a full-blown conversation about something called a Shopkins.  At any time you can hear my yells through out the house…FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CAN I JUST POOP ONCE BY MYSELF????  I haven’t been regular in months and using my best friends method of what is acceptable and not…apparently I’m pooping Cheetos so this can’t possibly be good.

I wish I could say this was just the kids, but even the man wants to come in and conversate.  Our new bathroom in this new house is the biggest one we’ve ever had.  It has one of those big garden tubs with a huge ledge on it and there’s mood lighting.  I’m not sure why, believe me when I say, there’s no mood I’m interested in that’s going to happen in there.   Its always fun to be in the middle of washing my hair and shaving things when he wants to come in and discuss the next month’s budget.  Look, even Dave Ramsay would tell you that you can wait 20 minutes on the envelopes and spreadsheets.

Sometimes I try to escape while I’m in the kitchen cooking.  They won’t suspect anything if I’m actually working, they’ll be too scared I’m going to ask them to participate.  WRONG!!!  No, that’s when everyone is going to stagger through in 5-minute intervals and ask you what you’re doing?  I always answer that question with “running a marathon”.   Two of them are still trying to figure that out.  The third usually just walks away and mutters, “I hate you” under his breath.   

Today the boy slept til almost 2pm and the girl was entertaining herself with the new bribe doll I bought her for jumping in the deep end of the pool and not dying, so I had me time.  Netflix it is!  I was all settled in with my Spark and salad (because I’m back on the brown box of despair, advocare).  I had just hit play when of course there was a loud knock at the door.  The repairman for the dishwasher.  Of course it is, I just loaded it 20 minutes prior and it was smack dab in the middle of washing.   After I was ridiculed for using Cascade pods in the actual dispenser and not the silverware holder and then chit chat about how his wife wants to move to Ft. Drum and he’s all excited so he can see snow and be country again, I was ready for him to go.   I was not prepared to entertain Troy while he replaced a gasket.  As soon as he was gone back to the ugly brown chair.  10 minutes in…”Mamma, can I have queso???”  

Father’s Day is Sunday, I think for Jesse’s gift I’m going to follow him around all day and ask for snacks, talk about financing my mountain home in Colorado, talk about my period, show him my strange boob hair while he’s in the shower, use all the toilet paper and then replace it by stashing it all the way across the bathroom in my closet on my shelf, decide I want to empty the attic, call him at least 6 times while he’s on the flight line and ask him 47 times where he’s going every time he gets up.  It'll be fun!!

I’m still cool just not 18 and stupid kinda cool

Today I learned that my 7 year-old daughter has more energy than Lance Armstrong on monkey steroids.   I love that little face of hers but today I had to come to the reality that I’m just not the cool kid I always imagined myself as.  I’m the kid that longs for her ugly brown chair and my Grey’s Anatomy on demand.  But today it was a girl’s day of fun.  We started out with tennis, then we had our cheer, off to the grocery store where one gallon of milk turned into a cheesecake, cupcake, cannoli and Kit Kats.  Then we were off to lunch for chicken, we had to wash our diabetes down with something greasy and a heart cath.  Then we decided to watch a movie before we swam.  Would hate to get a cramp with the diabetes and heart disease and all.  Its always best to use common sense and moderation.

Once I got the pool ready to go we jumped in.  I decided it would be fun to do a cannonball.  What I didn’t count on was actually missing the pool, landing on my giant swan, sliding off and hitting my head on the pool stairs.   Baby Girl on the other hand laughed hysterically.  I’m pretty sure I have a concussion, but you know what they say, don’t go to sleep, so I climbed up on my swan and tried to float for a bit and decide if I was experiencing any neurological abnormalities.  At least I could count to 10, that was how many breaths baby girl had worked her way up to staying under water.  That was fun.

While I was laying on my float I started having flash backs of about 2 years ago when I tried to show her how to do a cartwheel.  That also ended tragically.   I still have a limp and twinge in that knee frm time to time.   I think its just time for me to realize that I cannot perform the acts I used to be able to do.   I think my powers should be used for more useful things in order to help her succeed in life. 

I still shudder to think about this day

Such as helping her pick out the perfect polish for her nails and toes.  Never the same color, always a shade or two off.  I learned this from one of my closest dearest friends who would publicly shame me if I was wearing OPI’s Meet Me In Paris on my toes and nails.  NOOOO!!!  It’s embedded in me, and now my daughter.    I also can put together a stream of obscenities that would make a seasoned vet blush.  Sometimes you need a few good adjectives to get your point across.   I’m really good at this.  The proper handbag.  She will never go without or carry the wrong bag in Season.  And if her future husband doesn’t understand this, then he can’t be a part of our lives.  Her life, can’t be a part of her life.    Laughter will always be in her life.  My dad was a funny man.  He always had a good joke or a funny story.  I credit him for my humor.  He probably wouldn’t be too happy about that whole obscenity part, I’ll try to do better dad.   And I will ensure that she knows laughter will get through anything, even when it may not seem acceptable at the time.   I will also be able to teach her the importance of a good play list on her ipod and that car dancing is a real sport and you should always be on you’re A-game.  You never know who you will roll up next to at a red light and be intrigued by your moves.  If Justin Beiber can be discovered on Youtube then the sky’s the limit for her. 

I wish I could still do the cartwheel and the cannonball.  I wish I still had my cool moves.  But I’m pretty happy with my middle aged cool moves now.  I just need to pace myself.  I’m probably one obscenity and handbag away from the man sedating me!

IT'S BUSINESS TIME!!!

After a long stressful month of May the tiny humans have all left for their visits with grandparents and biologicals.  I don’t really remember the last time me and the man have had a whole week of just us.  I just know it was much needed.   My daughter is 7 and we decided since we have an extra phone that we would let her have it.  Give her something that made her feel like one of the older kids and she can call us whenever she wants while she’s at grandma’s house.  Obviously this was mistake number one.  At seven years old with something new and shiny and technological its like my daughter has turned into a tracker jacker.  She’s everywhere.  And she can’t spell real well so between the texts of “are you ther?” and “MOMA” every 5 minutes I can’t say that she’s really been away.  Then she learned how to FaceTime.  And by God someone better answer, or she’ll keep calling back.  She’s my own little stalker.  Cell phone idea, probably not my best idea.

Monday, was drop off the kid day.  We drove just north of Birmingham, had lunch with the in-laws, did the kid drop, awesome we’ll spend the rest of the day hanging out in Birmingham and just enjoy each other’s company.  Maybe I can get a purse out of this situation.  (a girl can dream)  The trip was fun but it was time to go home and 15 miles from being home I get trapped behind the lady who was in the “Where’s the Beef” commercials, you know the one couldn’t see over the steering wheel driving her 1976 Cutlass Olds down the middle of the street.  Only my lady was in a teal Prius with a folded up bicycle in the back window.  I literally spent all my energy on having an internal fight behind the driver’s wheel on why she needed to move over and how was I going to pass her and then the obvious, honk your horn, throw your hands in the air, flash your lights, throw her down in 3^rd gear and blow her off the road.  YES!!  Get around her make the blind turn and BOOM I'm stuck behind a semi!  God hates me.  So by the time we got home, I literally sank into the couch and was done.  There was no hot lovin.  There was no making a bad into good.  I was mentally and physically done with all the drama of the last 15 miles and from the rest of the month.  I say to myself, you have to try, look over at the man to entice him with my come hither drunk Zyrtec eyes….he’s got the dog in the ugly brown chair watching Street Outlaws.  So, I decided I’d eat a hot dog and watch Sister Wives.  No magic time tonight.  The thrill is gone.  

Even though the kids are away, the man still has his Army man duties.  He goes to class and the flight line every day and I stalk him.  I’m sure at least 4 times a day he’s thinking to himself, “cell phone for wife, probably not my best idea”.   Before when he was in school, he was out by noon, there was happy naked time and then we were off somewhere.  Usually Panama City Beach and there were lots of Margaritas.   Wooing was so much fun then.  He gets home at 5 now, and usually has a friend or two.  The friends are fun and make for fun evenings but I’m probably not going to be cooking lasagna naked for them.  I think I just heard a collective sigh of relief for that.  You’re welcome.

Tuesday started, I made all my necessary primping appointments.  I got all gussied up and made myself look like what I think a cute girl my age is supposed to look like.  I naturally went with bubble gum pink nail polish.  I’ve tried my hardest to avoid the lazy ponytail and the trendy messy bun.   I was bringing the magic back.  We were about to have 50 Shades of Jesse (I have to credit his buddy for that one, and it is pretty good).   Tuesday, Ladyscaping day.  That ended with, don’t touch me, I’m pretty sure my underwear is permanently glued to my vajay jay, you’re going to have to give me a 24 hour turn around on this.  My planning skills may need some work, I clearly didn’t think this situation all the way through.

Wednesday is a new day, we got this.  Its also wing night at the local watering hole here in town.  Ah HA, this is it.  We’re going to make up for lost times and be all kinds of fun again, just what we need.   I’m ready when he gets home for the big night out.   It’s awkward.   He’s hanging out in his underwear looking at power points.   I say, in my sexy voice…(not really)……You know we could……..and what happens next well, I’m pretty sure we lost any cool card we ever had and probably need an instructional video.  We like to call it the blooper reel.  Our Blooper Reel was so hilarious and embarrassing, I don’t think either one of us can ever take the other serious again.  Here’s what I learned, as long as you think in your own mind that you are sexy and doing sexy things and keep in the character, that’s all that matters!!  Just STAY in character, you planned that shit right there.  It was supposed to be like that.   Because if you break character and lay in a ball in the fetal position naked on top of baby girl’s craft box because you may have fallen off the make shift shelf you built on the couch, you can't come back from that.  The Magic has dissipated and all sense of seriousness is gone.  Just grab your dignity and pretend this never happened.   We will never speak of this again.  Why is the dog staring at me like that?

Thursday we’ve had some time to recover and not look each other in the eye or talk about it.  Talking is over rated.  Its man-primping day!  YES!!  I cook dinner, he’s getting purty.   The study group comes over.  No biggie.  I’m having fun, drinking and eating and hanging out by the pool.  9:30 rolls around.  Apparently enchiladas and beers turns into sleepy time.  The magic is clearly gone.  I force myself to wake up and the man is in a Supernatural marathon.  Well, its time to call it.    Friday is coming, yes the weekend, that’s when all the crazy will happen!

Friday rolled around and I waited anxiously for the man to get home so we could hang out.  We were on the non-plan plan.  YAY!  After waiting all morning I finally get the call he’s on the way home.  And hour and a half later I’m thinking to myself, that 15-minute trip sure did stretch out today.  Apparently it was take your friend to the barbershop and get haircuts and neck massages day.  Whatever, I like his noggin.  Grab the keys and out the door we go.  What are we doing?  We end up at the Harley Davidson.  Every girl’s dream date.  Then steaks at the Roadhouse.  Great I know what this means, every time…puppy belly!!!  The rest of the day is going to be shot.  Dinner is nice, not really a puppy belly incident but now we need to go buy clay targets for the shotgun???  Ok, then a trip to the Mens Wearhouse for the perfect pocket square.  No luck, and there was quite the stench that kinda puts a damper on the mood.  So naturally we decided to track down the Dothan Peanuts.  Yes, little fiberglass statues of Peanuts.  Its like a roadside attraction, I love this kind of thing.  Out of 50 I’m up to 13.  We made real progress. 

I decided we needed a little Putt Putt like when we were dating.  It would bring back memories and BAM the mood would be set.  The problem is, I’m slightly competitive.  So when our final score ended up being tied, well, CRAP.  Now the night is ruined, how am I supposed to find fun flirty sexy time, when we've ended a friendly competitive game of Putt Putt on a tie! Its as if the universe is conspiring against me.  Damn it, I want to punch babies.  Essentially our night ended with cokes from Sonic and a FaceTime with the baby girl.   Hawaii Five-0 on the tv and Jesse is doing his crossword with the dog in the ugly brown chair.  There’s only one more day left on our childless week vacation and well, things aren’t looking promising.  Hope Springs Eternal.

Saturday rolled in with the thunderstorm and Serena Williams getting beat in 2 sets.  It’s going to be a good day, indeed.  But men don’t think like women.  Never have, never will.  So when they think its business time, well, they think that the 1^st thing they do in the morning is roll over, and poke us….with “it”.  You know, little nudge here, little nudge again as if to say…HEY…IM HERE!  Ok, guys, we’ve been asleep for at least 7 hours, my bladder is full.  So when you nudge me then throw your leg over the top of me and land it on my bladder yeah, something’s about to happen and I don’t think you’re gonna be up for that adventure!!!  No girl has ever woke up and said “geez, I wish I had someone to nudge me in the back so I’d know its business time!”  Ever.  Not one!   And the morning breath that we can taste its so bad, who wants that in your face first thing.  I dont even like to talk or acknowledge anyone before 10 am so this certainly can't go well for anyone.   Our Saturday actually ended up being pretty fun, a trip to the car show and some country cruising then back home to hang out in the pool and just enjoy the rest of the afternoon.  And then it happened; spontaneous…IT’S BUSINESS TIME!!!  Oh man, we were on it.  Like teenage irresponsible kids.  And then it happened.  One of us almost drowned, I ate a bug, there was one cramp and one issue of how anatomy works in a pool.   It was the Oscar’s of blooper reels if there was to be an award.  One of us decides to take the party inside.  One of us also forgot to turn the air off and the fans off before we went outside.   We walked into an iceberg.  Business Time was officially OVER.  One of us laid in a winter blanket laughing hysterically while the other one just stood there with defeat in his eyes, and some laughter.  That’s it. 

I don’t know what happened from the time we were dating and fun and carefree to now.  I’m pretty sure it had to do with alcohol and no inhibitions.  But whatever it was, I sure do miss it.  I also blame the kids.  They’re always the root of all the evil. You can never get the past back but you can always look forward to new beginnings, and that’s just what I’m going to do.  Keep on keeping on!  Maybe next weekend we’ll sneak out to the garage and try making out in the car!  Oh wait, it’s a standard, someone’s gonna get poked and my bad leg……………………….

HAPPY NATIONAL DONUT DAY!!!!

Goin Rogue...Down There!

Being a girl is hard.  And the older we get the more obstacles Mother Nature throws at us.  I personally took for granted that I would always have perfect skin, tight abs and the ability to eat 3 super sized French Fries in one sitting and not gain a pound or a dimple.  In the big handbook of life lessons they should have a section chaptered “Moments that will break your heart, your bank account and possibly 3^rd degree burns."  I’m starting to experience all of these.

I’m approaching 40 way faster than I want to.  And my body and mood are slightly bi-polar, to put it bluntly.  When I turned 30 I noticed it.  It just showed up one day out of the blue.  I didn’t know what to think about it and do you talk about it with your friends or are you the freak show?  The hair.  That one rogue black hair on the boob.  Thank GOD for Google.  Anonymity.  Well, wouldn’t you know there are at least 478,652 more people in the Yahoo Chat Community that also have the rogue black hair.  Now the next question, do you pluck it, shave it, is it like gray hairs if you make it go away will 7 return in its place???  And why was I not warned about the rogue black hair?   And what is stranger than that is that at 30 I was back in the dating world again.  Single and exploring and experimenting and having fun.   What I learned is, that complete strangers, boys, like to share their experiences, all free and willy nilly like, about how they were with a girl who had the mysterious rogue black hair on the boob and they RAN!  THEY RAN!!!  Now I wish I could say this was one isolated story I heard but it wasn’t.   Well, now the pressure was on!!!!  And on a side bar….if you’re a boy reading this…..Let me tell you that as far as one rogue boob hair goes, as us girls have to put up with you guys….the smells and hairs you all have far out weigh and scare us more than your fear of the boob hair!!!! 

And so I plucked.  It hurt.  And for years I plucked the one rogue boob hair.  And then around 37, I noticed, there was a rogue chinny chin chin hair that my now husband loves to point out and make a face when the light hits it just right.  At 39, its like my body and its all hormones and Father Time ganged up against me.   I could grow a handle bar mustache, my boobs bring new meaning to the words “sweater puppies”, and the hair…down there….as Samantha Jones would say…..its like someone put miracle grow in my Caress!  I would almost imagine that it was easier for Bruce Jenner to transition from a man to a woman than it is for a woman to grow old gracefully!

So I decided that now since I’m a living breathing walking bearded woman it was time to incorporate the waxing regiment into my life.   As if it wasn’t hard enough to fit in the every 4-week preventative hide the silver sparkle from my noggin.   Now I have to fit in 4-week primping of the rogue black hairs.  Here’s a tip, for any newbies out there….that one-inch growth is a bad idea…really bad!!!   I also would suggest a nice big helping of xanax and Jack Daniels.   The lady was quite nice and for some reason very chatty.  It’s hard to be chatty with a complete stranger wielding a popsicle stick with 350-degree candle wax dripping off the edge and your cooter spread apart like she’s looking for the leak!   You should mentally prepare yourself that it’s going to be awkward and sting.   LIKE A MO FO!!!  I don’t care what you prepare yourself for in life, there will never be a pain you get used to or can comprehend until you have had this procedure done.  I would rather birth 5 kids in a pool of water in the middle of Sea World then have to endure that again.  I literally sat straight up and inappropriately grabbed her ass.  It was indeed by accident, and she smiled, but it happened.   Four times.  I feel like I probably owe her dinner now.  I apologized profusely, and she just smiled.  Forget water boarding…we should just bring ISIS to any day spa and have them get their balls waxed.   Not only will we own the oil and land they’ll give up all their camels and their friends’ camels! 

After she was done she handed me a towel and a KFC wet wipe.   Apparently I was supposed to use the wet wipe down there, but you can’t wipe that much sticky wax out with just one wipe, so I washed my face because all my mascara had ran and my eyeliner was gone.  It looked like Mike Tyson had beat me up.  So I tried to clean my face.  Maybe that would distract the fact that I felt like my under britches were stuck in places that may never come out and now I walk like a duck so that nothing “rubs”. 

I paid for my service and was informed that you get the cheaper price if you come within the 4-5 week window for “maintenance”.  Naturally I signed up because what girl doesn’t like a discount!   They tell me it gets better the more you go.  That eventually your body gets used to this torture and stops producing the rogue hairs.   I’ve been plucking and waxing my eyebrows since I was 20.  I was a late bloomer.  I’m still waiting on that phenomenon to happen.  I’m not holding my breath.  But I am investing in lidocaine and a wooden block to bite into for my next trip.   I probably should take Sarah some flowers, it just seems the like the right thing to do, after all, she was wearing latex gloves!