We Both Left The House This Weekend... Separately On Saturday.

The hubby had to work Saturday. He came home at 8 pm or later most of last week. Friday, he got home at 5:30 pm. Which sounds reasonable until I remember that gets to work before 7 am.

I understand that he is busy, but sometimes that doesn't make me feel any better. I put on clothing clothing Saturday morning - not my pajama shorts and comfy layered tees. I had a reason to actually leave the house as well, in a way that felt like work - a hair appointment. It's only been how long since my last haircut? Oh, that's right. It was the Christmas before last Christmas.

*Crickets chirping*

I know it's been time for a while. At some point about a month ago, my hair managed to fall over the sink just as I was finished brushing my teeth. I literally spit all my toothpaste out on my hair. Every drop of it landed in my long locks.

Pretty. Lady. Meow.

Still, it took my hair getting stuck under my own armpit last week for me to make an appointment. I was doing something normal like folding laundry or putting clean dishes away. Something not memorable. However, at one point I reached up and when my arm came back down, it somehow came down on my hair, trapping it and pulling my head. It was like I was attacking myself with my own armpit. Not only was that memorable, it was horrifying. Smooth moves, Sophisticated Woman. Purr. Sassy, sassy.

With a heat index of over 110 degrees on what feels like every day since forever, everything has been all sleeveless shirts and my stinky and/or deodorant-y armpit is not a place for my hair to get stuck. No thank you.

I have not been able to find a hair place that I like since moving here. That used to be less impressive since it was usually followed by "And I've lived here in St. Louis 6 whole months!" and now that I've been here 5 years, it isn't quirky or cute at all. It's bordering on psychotic. More than once, I've told my husband he has to cut my hair. Now.

Since he is a very smart man, he has always adamantly refused. When I have threatened to cut my own hair, during, say, a migraine, he has forbidden me and given me concern-y face. The kind that says "I will not let you anywhere near scissors" and that I'd better not even try.

I don't know when exactly I threw in the towel (because "no haircuts ever!" was such a great answer) and then proceeded to get some sort of complex about the whole frickin' thing. Sure, one past haircut here made me look homeless while a cut at another place looked like I had not had a haircut at all. There was also one from a nearby Pennys that would have convinced me I was a lesbian had I not already been very sure that I wasn't, which I am not saying is a bad thing. Yay lesbians. In general. It just wasn't the look I wanted.

It doesn't help if whenever you look in the mirror, you inadvertently swear. Which I think is happening now haircut or no haircut, so I said let's just bite the bullet here, Self.

I started off Saturday morning like this:

Ignore the creepy eyes and zombie facial expression. I was not happy this morning. My husband came home for lunch before heading back to work, and he kept looking at me and randomly hugging me. At some point, he said, "You just really don't like change. It'll be okay."

Went to a new place. Got my lovely doctor appointment-type rash all over my body as I waited. Guess I was nervous. Super. Even my make-up didn't hide it, and it spread all over my neck and arms. When I finally got out of the waiting area and into the stylist's chair, even with my glasses off, I could see all the red blotchy goodness reflected back at me in the mirror. I guess now I have panic attacks but instead of hyperventilating, I get really warm and break out. Just. Great.

Sigh. My nerves were for nothing. Allyson with a y was wonderful. You have to be a good stylist to not take advantage of a client that sits down in your chair and says, "Do whatever you want. I do not care. Just don't shave my head." That is literally what I said when she asked, "What are we doing today?"

Hooray for a salon that I will visit more than once! Although I still hate new things. On my way out, a guy said MY FIRST NAME and then the following 6 words that almost made me throw up in my mouth, "I know you don't remember me-"

Is there anything worse than those words? Said out of a face I've never seen before? My throat let out some sounds that were like a hungry stomach met a YouTube dog-that-makes-funny-noises video and they had a baby.

Then he said sort of quiet and strangely, "I'm the one that called you yesterday and reminded you of this appointment." You know, the appointment I made the day before yesterday.

I did my "Of course!" Nice smiles! And then the run away. Oh, world. How you mess with me.

I may still curse my reflection whenever I see myself, but this is definitely better. *Holds hand up, waits for high five*

What could possibly make this better as I wait here for my high five to be returned?

*Goes and gets a cookie*

Ahhhhhhhhh. There it is.

Really, You Should Be Thanking Me

Essentially, my absence has spared you a lot of posts about how "this week we did nothing" and "my husband is a saint" and "I don't feel good" and so on. You should really be thanking me for not being on here.

I guess I could have had some sort of blog game show. First round would be called "Guess The Surprise Home Repair!" and that would be immediately followed by the speed round of "What Are The Odds Happy Wife Cooks Dinner Even Once This Week?" and maybe the person in the lead would get to virtually throw things at me. Possibly food items like tomatoes that I still wouldn't work into some kind of meal plan for my family.

The bonus lightening final round would be "How Many Days Has It Been Since Happy Wife Has Left The House" and those who actually guess in days and not weeks would be laughed off of the show. Of course, some would have an impressive advantage since anyone who knows me in real life is aware that I've had such a fun summer so far. I mean, I've done so much! Caught up on a bunch of tv shows, color coded all the clothes in my and my husband's closet, re-organized the kitchen cupboards... Life is so much better when all the cans on the shelf have their labels pointed in the same direction. You know, stuff and things. I also didn't not have surgery about 8 weeks ago.

Oh, my insides. *Gives self good natured punch in the gut*

I'm fine! Sure! Stop looking at me like that!

Look, I made chocolate chip cookies today!

Cookies: A Healthy Alternative To Vicodin

So obviously, everything is totally fine. All other arguments are therefore invalid.

Hey, guess what? Mav the dog is having surgery later this summer, too. Which I found out about today. Just after I was told her spider bite never fully healed and is infected again. Oh, good times.

My husband and I are eventually going to go out. Of the house. Together. Somewhere. And even though I've gained a thousand pounds and lost most if not all the common sense needed to be out and about socializing with people I am not married to, I will take a picture and we will call it a date and that's that. So stay tuned.