Too Dang Much

If I don’t write something today, I will well and truly die.   Let’s not see this happen.

I burnt my tongue today in a panic.  I thought that I had forgotten the time for the wedding I was supposed to attend today because my calendar on my personal phone said 10-11 (which couldn’t have been right but…) and the work phone said 2:30-5.  So I blew through the grocery store, feeling fairly certain that the wedding invite had indicated no gifts, and purchased some coffee and a card.  This would give me exactly 30 minutes to make the 30 minute drive to my old stomping grounds, to the church on the hill where the wedding (both calendars matched up in this detail) would be held.

Five minutes after 10:00am, I arrived and began making my way up the hill to discern to my relief that the church was quite sealed at every entrance.   This meant I could make it back to my car, finish that now no longer scalding coffee, finish my face makeup, and make it to my eyebrow wax and hair color appointment.

The hair place is new.  Brand new, really, only four months old and I discovered it only because all of my usual haunts were booked up.  It looks chi-chi and overpriced which is sort of my salon style.  A pack of very thin women chittering, some of whom are well within the minimum non-smoking distance from the doorway, lighting up.  They don’t look mean, they just don’t look friendly.  The friendliest one on this sliding scale admirably lights up in the metaphorical sense and takes me to the back room, to the fluffy doctor’s table where I assume the position and she puts very hot wax on my face and leaves it for longer than I am used to. She peels the wax off while small talking with me and imparts the usual bearable sting and then, majesty is over, and I am off to sit down for the color with the blonde who looks like she fell out of at least two CW shows.  She’s wearing a blue smock as a dress with sandals.  I looks like my way too NSFW-length of my pajamas.

She figures out what to do in absence of any real plan from me, but her plan rather than my absence of any idea costs a 1/3 more than I had figured.   But I supposed you couldn’t just dump color on my head and expect it to look well.


So, we let her do it.  Just foil my head.  And in the end, I am glad of it.  It makes me look, if no distinguished, then at least a  bit elegant.

And then, the wedding which fully deserves a post of its own but I am very tired so my need and personal requirment is only to get mine arse across the five hundred word finish line.  Everything else is too dang much.

Now, the Netflix version of Anne of Green Gables, posts about 50’s bananas.


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