I am writing this post as I’m waiting for FringeMan to finish cutting holes in my walls and floors and finally take me to lunch. He promised. He happens to be working at home today because we need heat, which leads me to the topic of this post – The Breakdown of Civilization First Seen in a Fashion Slump.
I went to bed in paint spattered faded brown sweat pants, a free ‘volunteer’ shirt from Kohl’s (leftover from my short, but well-loved career in retail), and a giant (perhaps x-large, oversized) fleece hoodie complete with an embroidered moose on my chest. FringeMan did not make any moves on me.
All fashion sense, common sense, and good sense goes out the window when the temperature dips below freezing.
I am cold.
Ice runs through my veins.
I should be living on the beach in Florida.
What I’m saying is that I dress for warmth. I wear wrist warmers in the house. I wear fleece lined plastic clogs out of the house. I wear scarves, hats, and when necessity demands, my husband’s hunting socks. I am a living, breathing, walking fashion faux pas from October to May.
Sadly it’s not just my clothing.
My hair…the post I’ve been putting off for weeks…is a disaster. I hadn’t realized how long it had grown because it’s been coiled in a giant claw clip since about April. I simply tired of taming my hair. I had better things to do this summer, life to live, a house to paint!
My neglect reminds me of a field of wheat left unharvested to die. It’s overgrown, dry, and wild. I let it down last week and scared my neighbor’s child. She may not come back to play with my daughter until she’s seventeen. I was all set to hire a hay-baler and be rid of the crop; however, this morning I decided to ‘fix it.’ A task that requires 3 brushes, one industrial blow dryer, a flat iron and oil. Yes, I add a blend of natural oils to my hair daily. You’d think you could fry bologna on my head, but no.
The problem is that the Cuban Missile Crisis was resolved in less time than it took for me to do my hair. I mean today it looks good, but I don’t want to be a slave to my hair…my keyboard maybe, but not my hair. Should I hire a team of scissor wielding stylists and cut? That’s my question.
With the onset of cold weather, my skin turns into the Mojave dessert. I would like to use endless bottles of Aveda’s all natural, organic, ultra hydrating facial moisturizer, but then I wouldn’t be able to pay for heat. We already know I like heat, so I went back to my old faithful – Ponds. Nothing says you’re turning into your grandmother like a tub of Ponds cold cream. I’m not sure what’s in it, but I think it’s been around since Moses’ wife suffered from dry skin in the heat of the Old Testament dessert. It’s probably animal lard, but I’d rather not know.
I slathered on a handful before climbing into bed the other night and turning to me, FringeMan asked if I were going to play bingo the next day. For the record, I know plenty of blue haired women that enjoy bingo very much, thank you. I may indeed wear my wrist warmers, hair oil, and Ponds and go play Bingo Monday night!
Intervention. I need it.
Please check on me in January. I may be borrowing clothes from the senior center by then.
-a very starving FringeGirl having a good hair day