Those Weren’t The Days

I’m not sure how I feel about going 3 days without you guys. I opened up my laptop to tap out a quick post and stared at the screen for quite some time. Not because I don’t have anything to tell you. Heavens, no. It’s currently Monday night after a very eventful three day weekend. I have a ton to tell you, I’m just having a hard time organizing my thoughts and getting something put to life.

Let’s just talk about Friday. Baby steps. First, here’s my hair. (This is Molly in her game day gear!)

I got out of work a bit early on Friday. My boss usually does that the day before a holiday, and sometimes he’ll do it randomly when he’s in a good mood. I enjoy those days. So I left about 4:15. Earlier in the day I got a phone call from the hair salon. I had an appointment scheduled with them at 6:00 on Friday evening. They called because they had a cancellation and wanted to know if I could come earlier. It was at that point that I cursed myself for being an adult.

I get frustrated when I realize that adults have to keep far different schedules than kids do. I think this is where this the phrase “Ignorance is Bliss” comes from. I’m happy with my life and my responsibilities until I am reminded that not everyone in the world is the same as me. I love my house until I see someone’s beautiful wood floors. I love what I’ve ordered at a restaurant until I see what someone else has ordered. You get it?

So there I was, having one of those days. Lyndsey got off work at 1. Lauren got off work at 3. This made me angry. I wished I could go. I wished I could be a high school student and hang out with my friends all day. Or a kindergartener and take naps at school. I wanted to be young again. Well, younger.

I wanted to tell the people at the salon that, no, I couldn’t get there any earlier and thanks a lot for rubbing it in. But instead I told them that I would do everything in my power to come a bit earlier but I couldn’t guarantee anything.

Like I said, I got off work about 45 minutes early. So I headed straight to the salon. As it goes, of course they weren’t ready for me. I wasn’t mad. I took that opportunity to sit and catch up on some celebrity gossip, which I never do because I’d so much rather write about myself than read about Octomom. I currently only get my celebrity news from the morning show I listen to or Chelsea Handler. And I realized that I should probably keep it that way.

I opened up a wrinkled copy of OK! magazine and started forming my opinion about Who Wore It Better? and then all of a sudden I over heard two teenaged girls on the couch next to me discussing how exciting it was that they were going to try Tampax Pearl because “they are those fancy tampons with the thick string” or something. I immediately felt inferior to these 15 year old girls because I am cheap and only buy Kroger brand tampons. I felt like telling them that they are all the same and to stop wasting their parents’ money but then they’d probably just call me old and make me cry.

I kept my head down and continued reading my magazine. I turned the page and my jaw dropped. Have celebrities always been this young? Do they just seem young since I’m getting older or is there really a trend of young slutty girls in the media? All I know is that when I turned the page I saw some chick from My Sister’s Keeper in lime green heels that are about 5 years too old for her. It made me sad to see her dressed that way. So I moved to the next picture and saw Miley Cyrus singing at one of her concerts. She was wearing disgustingly short shorts and boots that were gaping open because her tiny pre-teen calves are too thin to fill them out. But the kicker here was that those tiny legs were wrapped around a stripper pole.

(Let me take a second here to vent. Girls, singing while wrapped around a stripper pole makes you trashy. No wonder guys think it’s okay to call girls ‘sluts’ and treat them with disrespect. If you don’t respect yourself, why should they??? Also, who is allowing Miley to do this? Don’t yall know that half of her fan base is under the age of 10? Billy Ray, be a father and stop letting your child dance around on a stage in next to nothing. I could go on and on but that’s not the point of this post. Maybe one day I’ll do a post title “What’s Wrong With America.”)

I let out a huge sigh and shook my head at Miley and looked at the next picture. Jamie Lynn Spears carting around her baby. Oh dear.

I decided I was done with that magazine. I couldn’t handle it anymore. The more I read about trash like that, they more I’m tempted to get my tubes tied and refuse to bring an innocent child into this sad world. Instead I turned my attention back to the girls who were giggling over the names of the Bed Head products and discussing how they just must get some product called Manipulator because it was so funny.

I smiled when I realized that my childhood was over. I got out of it without having a desire to dance around a stripper pole in hoochie shorts. I didn’t get pregnant or wear 4 inch stilettos when I was 15. With the vast wisdom I have now (ha) I realize that I’d so much rather work full time and have a house and bills if it means that I don’t have to deal with the crap these girls have to deal with now.

I realized there in that salon, next to two girls who sent approximately 72,927 text messages in the short 10 minutes I saw them, that I very much like being an adult. So I got my hair cut, went out on a dinner date with my husband, and drank a very large margarita.

And the we went home to giggle and watch 17 Again.