Give Mia Break!

           Oh, no. It’s another Lucy episode. I wish they’d stop filming these; I don’t even get paid.

          This time I was at the nail salon. I’ve been going there for years, where Ethan does my nails in 30 minutes flat. We usually chat, usually about his darling 4-year-old, Mia.

          Only this time, I saw a cooking show on his cell phone and we started talking about food and recipes. Before you can say, “The oven timer’s done,” he was finished, at which point I paid and made a new appointment.

          I was standing up to leave when I remembered his daughter and said, “Give Mia a hug.”

          He came around the table, squeezed my shoulders, and I left, puzzled.

          ONLY THEN DID I REALIZE THAT HE THOUGHT I SAID, “GIVE ME A HUG!”

          This is a DISASTER! Too mortified to even go back in and explain, I got in the car and peeled out, totally embarrassed. Yes, I know I should have handled it right then, but I didn’t.

          I went home and wailed to St. Bob.

          Ethan probably thinks I’ve turned into one of these flirty old women who snuggle up to men and wink at them. EWWW!

          Now I have to summon the courage to bring it up again when I go there next, and explain the misunderstanding. WHY DID HE HAVE TO NAME HIS KID MIA? THIS IS A CATASTROPHE JUST WAITING TO HAPPEN!

          Mama Mia.

          And, speaking of Moms, you can join 10K subscribers, and watch hundreds of short life hacks on my Youtube Mom channel, right here!

Hair-um Scare-um

 Quick—see if you can name this common object:

          If you said steel wool, you are right. If you said Joni’s hair after a total disaster at the salon, you would also be right. (And now when I hear about someone calling S.O.S. I'm going to think they're in a panic because their hair now looks like an S.O.S. pad!)

          I went in to get some lowlights put into my light blonde hair, and when the colorist washed it out, my entire head of hair was now charcoal gray with black streaks. She said, "It will lighten a bit each time you wash it." Honey, I'd have to wash it every day for a century, and it still wouldn't make it blonde.

          St. Bob said he could turn me upside down and use me to scrub pots.  I glared at him. “Just try.” 

          My curls actually did resemble this wire scrubber:

          Or the sludge you see on the roadside during winter:

          Or the beard of physicist James Clerk Maxwell:

          Crossed with Rasputin:

           And the Bride of Frankenstein:

           Forget COVID. I'll have to quarantine just to hide my hair!

           This all happened after cancer and chemo. When you lose all your hair, it grows in a different texture and color. In my case, it grew in even curlier and dark brown!  Yet my eyebrows stayed blonde.

          Did I find someone to correct the situation? Yes. In steps. Hallelujah. And, now that I’m on my way back to being myself, I have to admit that streaky charcoal hair is better than no hair at all.

          Next time you’re unhappy with your hair, just stay inside and read my books! Or watch my Youtube Mom videos!