Pot and Kettle Get Their Hair Done

Cast:

The Pot:  Played by yours truly, aka Mom
The Kettle:  Played by my motormouth daughter, aka Lexie
Striped Hair Guy:  The stylist lucky enough to get assigned to the motormouth kettle, God rest his soul
Extras:  All the other people in a large salon on a busy Saturday afternoon including my stylist

It's been winter. The dry heat has frazzled our hair and we look like the wicked witches of Bad Hair Day Land. We haven't had a haircut since early November just before our family portrait. And we've got a serious case of the grey-day winter doldrums. It's time for mommy/daughter day at the salon! That should fix us right up.

And it did. I'm now too mortified to be depressed.

On a positive note my daughter is an out-going, friendly, never met a stranger, perky little thing. When people like my stylist or the neighbors are trying to make me feel better they say, "Well, at least she's happy." Really. I've heard those exact words before and I heard them again today.

As I was being shampooed I heard her voice all the way across the salon. Her voice carries well. She needs to go into politics. I am certain there was no one in the salon that wasn't hearing her. She began to talk and she did not stop.

I was hearing her voice as my hair was cut. I stopped hearing her for a bit while I was being blow-dryed. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. I heard her while I was being styled. I heard her while my uni-brow was being ripped off with hot wax in the very back of the salon.

I heard her stylist suggest that maybe is she closed her mouth she wouldn't get hairspray in it. I heard that more than once. I don't think she heard it.

Now I'm waiting for DFS to come and take my kids away to foster care and cart me off to jail or something. I should probably be getting ready for that instead of sitting here writing this.

She told them about every time in her life that one of our cats has pooped outside the litter box. She told them about my bulimic cat that eats too much then barfs all over the place. She told them about the time her brother made the mess in the bathroom. She told how much she loves being homeschooled because she can stay up all night playing the Sims. She told about our naked pregnant snowlady and how we used strawberry marshmallows for nipples. She pretty much shared every single embarrassing thing about our family and our home.

By the time she was done it sounded like we live in filth and squalor. It sounded like we're a bunch of backwoods idiots that don't need no learnin. I was mortified.

Then she asked her stylist about his sexual orientation in regards to his multi-colored striped hair.

Even as this was happening I was planning my lecture series. The lecture about not sharing embarrassing things with strangers and the lecture about what happens at home stays at home. The if-you-don't-have-anything-nice-to-say-don't-say-anything-at-all lecture and the don't ask people if they're gay lecture. The "Oh, my God, don't tell people how far behind we are with our schoolwork" lecture. The "No one needs to know how laid back your mother is about bedtimes and R-rated movies" lecture.

Even as I'm forming my lectures in my head I realize that I have told many of the same things to strangers on Gather. I have told even more embarrassing things on Gather that my daughter (thank the fates) isn't even aware of. To read my articles you'd think all my cats ever do is poop and barf and never where they're supposed to. You'd think we haven't touched a schoolbook since before Christmas and you'd be right about that one. (Hey, we have all summer to catch up.) You'd think nothing ever happens around here that isn't a total fiasco. You even know that I flirt with strange men in the condom aisle.

So the pot has to sit the kettle down and have a talk. I feel like such a hypocrite.