My Cheating Heart

I've been in a steady stable relationship for 10 years. Apart from one minor transgression, I have been completely faithful. That is, until last week. The first time I slipped up, I felt guilty and ashamed. And sadly disappointed. This last encounter though, it made me happy. When it was over, I felt beautiful and excited about a possible new future.

But how could I explain it to the one who had been there for me for so long? Someone who knew me, knew all my secrets? A person who had seen me at my worst, yet always made me look my best? How could I tell my beautician that I had found someone who might be replacing her?

When I first started going to Leisa, I had a major distrust for anyone who had a pair of scissors in their hand. I'd been to too many bad hair stylists, I'd had my hair hacked, cut crooked, bad perms, ugly colors, you name it. But as soon as Leisa started working on me, I felt like Shug Avery, wanting to tell Ms. Celie all my hopes and dreams. We built up quite a relationship. She knows more about me than even my husband does.

We moved last year. I was in desperate need of a haircut, and just didn't want to drive an hour to get one. I spent the entire time extolling Leisa's virtues to this poor girl. How Leisa was the best hairwasher, (she really gives a good scrub!) how she knew exactly what to do, how for the past 9 years, I never even bother to look in the mirror when she's done, I just know I look great! I'm sure by the time I left, this chick probably decided to change careers, knowing she could never compare to someone as wonderful as my Leisa. I confessed the whole thing to Leisa, who of course laughed at my silliness.

A couple of weeks ago, I had to have another haircut, and as I do not have a trustworthy vehicle to make the hour trek, I decided to try someone else closer to home. As I sat back in the hairwashing chair, ready to find any fault, I discovered that this lady was actually giving my head a good scrub. I slowly made my way to her cutting chair, still cautious, just because she can wash, does not mean she can cut! But as she cut, we talked. I found another kindred spirit. Someone who listened to me, but also had interesting things to share herself.

And when I looked at the final product, I was impressed. She had done a good job, not only making my hair look good, but making my spirit feel good. And I think that is the best quality in any beautician. Somewhere out there, I know Leisa understands, and blesses me.

John Wayne Versus the Princess

The economy has been having a downturn for the past few years. Everyone is cutting back and tightening their belts. Myself and my family are not immune. We've had to learn to do without a few creature comforts.

It's funny how different people have different views of being broke. Some people will consider theirselves broke if they can't afford to gas up their jet to fly away for the weekend. Others will give up their weekly mani/pedi spa dates as a sign of a lean economy. Myself? When I start buying cheap shampoo, I know that times are tight.

But one thing I absolutely refuse to sacrifice is my toilet paper! I will wipe my butt with nothing less than Cottenelle! And while it costs 4 bucks for 4 double rolls, it's a price I'm willing to pay. My only problem with toilet paper is I never buy enough. My mind will not allow itself to grasp the concept of how much TP 5 people can go through in a week. There's nothing like running out and having to scout around the house for napkins and paper towels. One friend told me that a coffee filter will do in a pinch...Hey, don't knock it 'till you've tried it!

But the absolute worst thing to use is cheap toilet paper. Last week we ran out and I asked hubby to pick some up on his way home from work. Imagine my shock and horror when he came in with something that can only be described as John Wayne toilet paper: rough, tough, and don't take no shit off nobody! This stuff didn't even have a name, it was just called Value Paper. I was saddened to see that he does not understand the level of comfort I'm used to in my toilet paper. I'm a princess by no means, but I refuse to wipe my butt with sandpaper!

As I write this, I'm wondering if I still have that wad of napkins in my purse that I swiped the last time we ate out...I'm out of toilet paper again.

Cleaning out the Refridgerator.

This weekend we're having a birthday party for my son. So that means I'm doing my usual pre-party freak-out house-cleaning. This involves me scrubbing walls, cleaning baseboards, and washing things that I never think to wash. It's funny how you can think your house is clean until you envision it through someone else's eyes. You would think the fact that I'm a stay at home mom would mean I'm a meticulous house keeper, but that's just not the case. I just don't have the fortitude to be constantly cleaning.

Out of all the cleaning I do, it's the refridgerator that really gets to me. Usually I just open the door and grab something and quickly slam it shut, doing my best to ignore how gross it actually is in there. In this economy, I'm trying my best not to waste anything, so therefore I save all leftovers. Even if it was something that noone liked the first go-round. I guess I'm convinced that leftovers are like fine wine, they get better with age. But that's not true, they don't get better, they just get furrier.

I finally decided this morning I would deal with the fridge. I prayed to the Patron Saint of Frigidaire to give me strength. I opened the door and the first thing I noticed is that I have 7 jars of pickles. All dill. If anyone was to look in my fridge they might think we're doing some kind of weird ritual involving dill pickles, so I toss them all except the newest jar. I take everything else out and put it on the kitchen table. In addition to all the pickles, I find that I have 5 tubs of sour cream, and 6 containers of cottage cheese. Now I'm not a betting man, but I can guarantee that it would not be worth my while to open any of them, so I pitched them all.

After 30 minutes, I have everything out, and I start removing shelves to clean them. I get them all out, and covering the bottom of the fridge is pancake syrup. How in the hell did syrup get there? I keep my syrup in the pantry. There has literally never been syrup in my refridgerator. After dwelling on that for a few more minutes, I tackle the job of getting it up. I ended up having to scrape it, but finally it's gone.

After throwing away countless bags of fuzzy things that used to be grapes, or maybe apples, who knows, I was finally done. Looking at my gleaming white fridge, giving myself a big ole pat on the back, I start the job of getting all the shelves hung up, and all the food back in. It didn't take me too long. I worked up quite an appetite while I was cleaning, but unless I can figure out how to make some class of soup out of soy sauce, ranch dressing, A-1, and dill pickles, I guess I'll have to go to the grocery store.