The husband and his beater

I do not have convertible hair. My hair is curly. And thin. When I wake up in the morning it does not look like it did when I went to sleep. When I ride roller coasters it does not fall back into place with a few light brushes of my fingertips like girls with straight hair. Humidity? Sex? Rain? Fucked! Often times, I painstakingly spend more than an hour trying to straighten my curly locks. I apparently am not good at that either; my hair is so fine(not in the complimentary or slang sense of fine) that it tends to singe and break off.
During my first midlife crisis(when I was 30) my hairdresser talked me into chemically straightening my long curly hair. What the hell? Why not cut off 6 inches too? So I did. Except I still had to use a flat iron to straighten my hair everyday. And since I have never had straight hair I did not know saturating my hair with heat protective styling products was an absolute necessity. After about 3 weeks, I started noticing patches of bald spots. I freaked out and went back to the devil hairdresser to try and get things fixed. You can’t fix bald.
“What am I supposed to do?” I implored, near tears.
“Umm… buy a wig until it grows out,”.
No apology. No admittance of any wrongdoing. No “I’m sorry I straightened your hair, didn’t tell you how to take care of it, and it all fell out”.
What did I do? I bought a wig. Sort of. I went to Sally’s Beauty Supply and bought a fake ponytail. Or three. Wigs are fucking expensive. And even when all my hair falls out, I am still ultimately just a hairless Jew. So I would slick back my remaining hair and pop in a fake ponytail. I had curly ponytails, straight ponytails, and blonde ponytails. A few of the ponytails snapped into place with a simple hairclip. My favorite one was more complex and required a hairnet and drawstring. The amout of time it took me to get ready diminished. Unfortunately, it still did not help with the whole arriving on time thing.
I grew fond of my fake ponytails. I even thought they looked good on me. Washing them proved to be a mild pain in the ass, though. I would have to soak them in the bathtub with a special shampoo and try to gently comb them out. Then I hung them various places around the house to dry. The kids became accustomed to fetching my hair.
“Hey! Can you run upstairs and grab my hair? I need to leave!”
One time the husband and I were at my cousin’s wedding. We needed to travel from the hotel to the ceremony and it was drizzling lightly outside. I had straightened my hair for the occasion so I asked the husband to grab the umbrella out of the car.
“The car is right there,” he said pointing at the vehicle parked 10 feet from the hotel door.
“Baby-we’ve had this conversation a thousand times. Please just grab it for me!” I answered.
One drop!! That is all it takes for one piece of my hair to shrivel up into its own inevitable curl. Am I a freak about my hair? Yes. This proves 2 things.
1. Noticeably singeing the majority of my hair was detrimental to my self esteem.
2. I have no business owning a convertible.
But the husband wanted a beater. Don’t get excited. He drives a medium sized pick up truck. That fucker guzzles gas and he works 20 miles from home. We had been talking for a while about purchasing a smaller car for the sole purpose of driving to and from work. A 2004 metallic blue convertible Saab, however, is not my idea of a ‘beater’.
The Saab previously belonged to the husband’s sister. Though she enjoyed the Saab, the Saab had issues. At one point she purchased an entire new engine. The husband had worked on her car often and longingly. When she decided to depart with it, she offered the husband a deal he couldn’t(and wouldn’t) refuse.
The Saab IS beautiful. We paid his sister $1500 and had it towed to our garage. It took the husband less than 10 minutes to fix the car. At this point, I was less mad about the $1500 and wished like hell I had straight hair.
The Saab gets fantastic gas mileage. And the car is sweet. It took me all summer to really start enjoying driving around with the top down. I even experimented and came up with a sustainable hairstyle that could survive a topless commute.
The husband and I went to another wedding last August. One of his work buddies got married in a little town about 45 minutes away. Of course the husband wanted to drive the Saab. I reluctantly agreed but told him we could not put the top down until we were on our way home. It was August; too humid to straighten the hair and there was no way in hell my curls would remain intact for that long of a car ride.
After the wedding, we started driving home with the top down. The husband pulled into the grocery store so we(I) could get beer. I looked in the mirror.
“I’m not going in!” I told him emphatically.
You know those pens with the little trolls with the fuzzy hair on top? The ones you rub between your hands and their fuzzy hair goes every which way? Yeah. He rolled his eyes and begrudgingly went in to get the beer.
My best friend chose that moment to call and say hi. So I did what I do best and started bitching. I told her the husband was irritated because I wouldn’t go in to get the beer and she started laughing. She called me a diva and said I was such a freak about my hair. I told her I would send her a picture. I snapped a picture of myself with my Iphone.
She called right back and apologized. The bitch also made that picture her background photo on her phone and says she laughs every time she looks at it.
And that is my Saab story.

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3 Responses to “The husband and his beater”


  1. 1 LisaR @ Who Stole My Baby? March 11, 2013 at 3:14 am

    You should definitely post that picture. I won’t laugh, I swear. Or at least I won’t tell you if I laugh.


  1. 1 Our doorbell sounds fucking stupid « thefbombmom Trackback on September 5, 2013 at 12:49 am

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