Normally on Wednesdays, I play a little something for you on my piano or tenor recorder, but today, I am not well. With the help of webmd.com, I diagnosed myself as having acute bronchitis. I don't know if that's true or not, but I'm going to think it is for a week or so and hope this passes. Have you ever been so sick that your skin hurts? I don't know how else to describe the sensation—it's not really pain, but it's not pleasant either. One minute I'm chilled and need a blanket, and the next I'm burning up and want a cold compress for the back of my neck, but my temperature never rises above 99.6˚. So, there will be no musical rendition today. Instead, I will join in Dive's bad-hair display.
We'll start with the 9th grade. My sister had cut my hair a few days before picture day. "Trust me," she said. "I know what I'm doing." Clearly, she did not. And I'm not sure, but I think the scarf was a scrap from the curtains that once hung on either side of the picture window. It went well with my banana-yellow jumpsuit which my mother sewed for me.
And here is the outgrowth of my hair two years later, having survived a permanent and another bad cut or two. This is the picture that caused my mother to say more than once or even twice, "Why do you want to look like that when you could be pretty?" Every time she saw this picture, which was displayed on the piano with my sisters' pictures, I had to listen to that and something like, "You just look like trash. Plain trash." It must have been the velour shirt which I did not snap up enough for her liking.
At least those years are over, and I only have to revisit them when someone says, "Hey, I have an idea. Let's all post pictures of when we had bad hair." What are you going to suggest next, Dive? Pictures of our first breakup, or maybe the day we lost our job?
We'll start with the 9th grade. My sister had cut my hair a few days before picture day. "Trust me," she said. "I know what I'm doing." Clearly, she did not. And I'm not sure, but I think the scarf was a scrap from the curtains that once hung on either side of the picture window. It went well with my banana-yellow jumpsuit which my mother sewed for me.
And here is the outgrowth of my hair two years later, having survived a permanent and another bad cut or two. This is the picture that caused my mother to say more than once or even twice, "Why do you want to look like that when you could be pretty?" Every time she saw this picture, which was displayed on the piano with my sisters' pictures, I had to listen to that and something like, "You just look like trash. Plain trash." It must have been the velour shirt which I did not snap up enough for her liking.
At least those years are over, and I only have to revisit them when someone says, "Hey, I have an idea. Let's all post pictures of when we had bad hair." What are you going to suggest next, Dive? Pictures of our first breakup, or maybe the day we lost our job?
Comments
Excellent, Robyn!
Your sister sure could cut hair!
Just not in any recognisable style, that's all.
And your Mom was right! Button up that cleavage, young lady!
Hee hee hee hee hee.
My sister cut my hair when I was in fourth or fifth grade. She convinced me using the same "I know what I'm doing" line. She gave me a big incision behind my right ear, and I'm still carrying the scar!
Robyn you do sound unwell. I hope you get better soon. Lots of rest. Drinks. Maybe the doc. x
I hope you feel better soon.
Like I said, some people can be just plain old mean.
On the medical side of things, don't play around with bronchitis. If it lasts another day you should see your doctor.