I had a voice mail from my mother-in-law. She told me to call her. I knew if I didn't do it right then I'd never get to it because I was running 394957847596038284.09 errands. I'll bet you wonder what the .09 errand was.
So I rang her, as Barry Gibb would say. Unlike Barry Gibb, however, I had not yet blown my hair dry. "Hello, mother-in-law," I said. "I can't talk long because my hair is wet and I have to dry it before it gets funny."
Then somehow 20 minutes went by and as we were speaking, I caught a glimpse of myself in the toaster. Oh, mother of pearl. It was like King Louis XIV
mated with Gene Wilder.
And their love child had been caught in a rain storm. And electrocuted. With a spiral perm.
"Mother-in-law, I have to go," I told her. "You can't even begin to understand how stupid my hair is, and I have to run errands."
"Wear a hat," she advised.
So I did. I took that stupid, stupid, damp unbelievably curly 'do and put a knit cap on it, ran my 394957847596038284.09 errands, got caught IN THE RAIN, and oh. Oh, how I wish I could show you my hair. I tried to take a picture with the webcam? And it won't email the image to me. I tried my regular camera? Out of batteries. It's like God is trying to spare all of you the pain. Oh, it's dumb hair.
Someone told me that on Thanksgiving, her hair was particularly poufy and she was complaining about it and one of her dinner guests said, "You sound like that one woman who always talks about her hair on her blog. You know, the cherry pie lady."
Cherry pie lady's got some redunkulous Shirley-Temple-the-morning-after hair. That is what I'm telling you.
But that is not why I gathered you all here today. Last night Marvin and I watched Radio Days, which is yet another excellent Woody Allen movie, and you know how I am about Woody Allen, but really this is one of his best. I mean, Marvin has a Woody Allen quote engraved in his wedding ring ("We need the eggs"). Really, he's sort of more married to Woody Allen than me.
After enjoying said movie for the 49th time, I came in here to check Facebook, because it's imperative that I do that 72 times daily, and Marvin said, "You have to come back in here."
I hate it when Marvin calls me away from whatever task. It irks me. Rarely does it turn out to be worth my while. Not once has Marvin called me into a room and once I got there did I find Taye Diggs and a pile of Mallow Cups. For example.
But last night? Was worth it. Because apparently? In the '30s or something? They used to make these shorts–these movie shorts, not bloomers–and they took dogs and made them act like people and probably today PETA would be all over that mess but oh! It is ludicrous and yet somehow so appealing.
Here's a YouTube of said short. It's only two minutes long. But it's two minutes of ridiculousness.
Which I wish could also be said of my follicles.