Oy. I know it’s the age-old argument between parents and their kids: Who has it the roughest?
But still….c’mon! It’s no contest, you little whipper-snappers!
Connor: (13) (Sighs dramatically) “I’m bored. Can Jason come over to hang out today? I just left a message on his cell, so I’m waiting for him to call me back. Can you do that straightening iron thing with my hair? It looks terrible.”
Kathryn: (Fixing Connor with the mom-martyr look….) ((readers yell, “RUN, CONNOR! RUN LIKE THE WIND! DON’T LOOK BACK! THERE’S NO TIME!….LEAVE THE VIDEO GAMES….JUST RUUUUUUN!!!”)) “Well. In my day, I had to use orange juice cans rolled onto my hair to just try and control the frizz...
…and when I got older, we used the clothes iron and a real ironing board to
…before a big night on the town, dancing and drin- -, I mean…at youth group meetings discussing world events or delivering meals-on-wheels. Now, you kids have your fancy-schmancy ion-powered-straightening irons with their temperature settings and lifetime warrantees. Pish.”
Connor: “Mom. Those look like empty Diet Coke cans to me…and how does she make them stay on her head? And there’s no freakin’ way you slept in those things, so don’t even try...and please tell me you didn’t leave the house looking like that. I’ll bet every time she would lean forward, a little-bitty-bit of Diet Coke trickled out onto her lap…how quaint.”
Kathryn: “’Quaint’? Where did that word come from? And watch your mouth, bud. I didn’t sleep in Diet Coke cans…but I walked to school once or twice with the orange juice cans bobby-pinned to my head till I reached the athletic field in back and then I’d roll ‘em out real quick and hope I didn’t miss one. Totally different thing entirely. I do not recall any drippings.”
Connor: “’Quaint’ replaces ‘interesting’, which was my standard reply when you’d talk to me and I wasn’t really listening but realized the lull in the conversation meant you were waiting for a response from me. Dammit. Now you’ll have to live with it until I can think up a new one. What’s a bobby-pin?”
Kathryn: (Frowns) “Language, dammit. The bobby-pin is irrelevant…I doubt you’ll need one. At least, not for your hair…although there are many other uses, Lady MacGyver Grasshopper-Son. But that’s for another conversation.”
Connor: (Rolls eyes) “Huh. Quaint. Can I go now?”
Kathryn: “Sure. Oh, one more thing…we had to use rubber bands to make our pony tails…
…none of this gentle, ‘no pull, no damage’ crap. And when you took ‘em out, you had a big tangled clump of your hair that came out with it. It freakin’ hurt. I just thought I’d mention that, in light of this news item I found whilst Googling ponytail holders”:
According to Snopes, (my immediate go-to for all things questionable in their validity and gross-ness factor) this story is true. Some lady must’ve worn out her band and wondered why the inside was a different color and texture than the outside and decided to investigate. No-one seems to be able to validate whether the condoms were actually previously used…or simply rejects from the manufacturer due to their possible….ineffectiveness….not that it really matters all that much. I mean, ew.
I’d like to say that I’ve no further comment on the above…but the Lady MacGyver in me is picturing a windy day….lost in the middle of a forest…fly-away hair…and no handy way to pull it back….
Nope. I think I’d rather tear off the hem of my blouse as a tourniquet …use a shoelace….or, hell…spend several hours weaving some unknown vine together to fashion a makeshift hair band to do the trick.
But knowing my luck…the vine I’d pick would be poison ivy…