Frost-A-Lot

     I have just about had it.  Sometimes I wonder how many times other people have said this and how many times they wondered what "it" really was.  I guess every day has begun to run together like one long hike on a never ending desert.  Maybe it's time for a change.  I thought about weight loss, but food is my best friend.  I thought about the wardrobe, but I definitely do not reside in New York.  How about my hair?  Yes indeed this could just change my whole outlook for awhile.
     After making the big hair decision, I called a couple of hair styling saloons.  No way was I going to throw fifty bucks plus tip down the shampoo drain.  Both daughters have a birthday this month and you have no idea what a double princess party costs.  My next choice was to just try one of those frost at home kits.  After all, it couldn't be too difficult. All I really wanted was a few Hollywood blonde streaks to blend into the multicolored mop that already existed.  At this point there was only one teeny, tiny obstacle left to conquer.  I must convince my better half to help.
     After making a delicious, pain in the butt dinner, taking care of kids homework and bath and picking up the homestead, I popped the question.  I was blown away when he agreed to do it.  I didn't even have to beg, bargain or whine.  I put the plastic cap on my head, I pinned the hair back that I didn't want hair color on and handed him the metal hook.  I told him to start pulling strands of hair through the top two layers of the cap while I mixed the solution. It all seems so simple, right?  Let me tell you right now that I'd rather birth triplets than go through an excruciating hour of pain with an uneducated froster.  Since it took him an hour, I decided to just pull the bangs through by myself.  When I glanced over and saw him putting the rubber gloves on, I knew real fear.  My next instruction was to just slather the mixture all over the plastic on my head.  Although the stench was overpowering, the coolness of the peroxide paste was somewhat soothing to my tortured scalp.  Now all I had to do was wait either 20 minutes or 40 minutes, whatever worked best first.
     So, I decided to wait an in between amount of time, about 30 minutes.  I jumped into the shower, pulled the cap off and shampooed my hair.  I'd been through this process so many times with a professional, I didn't even bother to glance before the rinse.  As I toweled my golden streaked locks, I happened to catch a glimpse of it in the mirror.  I'm sure the scream could be heard worldwide.  My hair had orange and pink streaks in it.  What was I going to do?
     The next few hours went by in a blur.  I called Mom crying and she called a stylist friend of hers.  She arrived with my mom and chemicals in tow.  It took much longer to fix it than it took to mess it up.  Finally, the results were acceptable for public viewing.  Mom was a wee bit irritated that she had to shell out a cool hundred dollar bill to get me up and going.  As I walked to class, I wonder how annoyed she would have been if she had seen the multitude of hair colors on campus that following morning.
    

The Great Escape

While travling through a neighboring town recently I made an abrubt decision to stop and park my vehicle.  The majestic trees on the quaint village square were just beginning to change into the beautiful fall colors.  The warm sun seemed to beckon me from my bucket seat.  What the heck, a wee ten minutes. I had certainly earned it.  I went over to the park bench and took a moment to gaze around.  The multitude of vendors seemed to beg me to enter their plate glass establishments.  With great strenghth I was able to cast off the sound of the siren.  Also, I just remembered  that I had left my visa at home.  Then I  spied it !  An authentic candy store.  My entire body lept off the bench and on to the front step.  My hands shook with excitement when I gripped the old, copper and wooden screen door.  YA BABY!!!!  I was certainly in heaven.  Soda fountains, mounds of chocolate truffles displayed in glass cases, popcorn of every breed or flavor.  Last,  but not least,  there was candy, cherry and gooey, it was crunchy and most of all munchy.  My eyes focused on the salt water taffy jar.  It took true skill to look graceful as they shoveled those tidbits into the brown paper bag.  As I handed the last of my gas allowence to the cashier I knew eternal glory was near.  Any thought of homework, diapers and exhaustion flew out the window.  Today's contest was over and I have won.  That soft, sweet taffy was my reward for the day.

It has been apparent that I must visit the library.  Such an unpleasant thought crossing through the enterance doors.  i just knew my body would begin to cower.  My baby blues would be darting to and from, searching for the nearest exit sign.  Childhood memories have taken charge.  As a small child my mother would take us to the local library for storybook time.  My sister would sit indian style with the other kids on the floor The beguiled look on her face use to blow me away.  Mom thought all her apt attention was on the dedicated reader and the story line.  I knew she was just killing time until cookies and juice was served.  My problem was the little girls room.  I could relieve myself five minutes before we hit the entrance, yet my bladder always betrayed me.  I would slither close to my mom and say" please mom".  She never had a problem letting me go.  She made me go solo.

As I stepped through those doors the library seems to come alive.  I spied no suit and armor encaing ghosts from by gone bloody battles.  There was not flag wraped up in the frame.  All indian artifacts are housed in catalog drawers, reffering to the pictires in the book.  Last but not least there are no existing stairs to climb to the restroom.  I had no fear that the tinkle and the flush sound would resonate to the captive audience below.