why I am bad at being a girl...

Exhibit A...



OK, it's the only exhibit but I wanted to say that. So my little Sister, Beccy, showed me this awesome bobby-pin twisty hair trick that gave my hair a beautiful soft, wavy, curl that lasted all day long. This was four years ago when I visited her in Florida, and last night I thought I should try it myself. I slept in the twisty hair and bobby pins and could hardly wait to unroll everything this morning and see my beautiful hair! Wow! One untwisting down and I knew things were not going well. Obviously, this hair never saw the chapel doors. I had to stick my head under the sink and spend some time with a pick and leave on conditioner to even run a brush through it again. Eddie said, "Mom, you look exactly like an animal!". He and Jacob then had a discussion over whether I was a giraffe or a lion. As you can see, I seriously suck at being a girl. My brother, Richard summed it up best, "That is terrifying!".

I should know better than to try new and exciting hair do's. Come on! If I try to step out of the box, as far as primping is concerned, it never works. I always rip my nylons. I have a BOX full of non-set earrings and a drawer full of eye makeup I don't know how to apply. This is not a pity party, just the truth. My girly game is WEAK. And I won't even mention my broken uterus!

Also happening recently was a skin care disaster. I burned the crap out of my eyes with Loreal Advanced Revita-something eye cream. I looked like a freak for at least two weeks until I consulted my Doctor brother, Jethro, and was miraculously healed with some steroid cream. Dave had called me the "Bride of Frankenstein" last Sunday morning and nearly sent me into tears but I survived, and I am so thankful to have my wrinkly eyes back! I should have taken a picture but just imagine me with dried pancake batter around my eye sockets.
What else....? I cannot leave painted nails alone. I am constantly banging up my legs with scrapes and bruises which I regret every time I put on a skirt and notice the weeks worth of wounds. So very unsexy.

And I cannot seem to take care of my hands. I clean A LOT. And with all the hand washing and being a nurse, my hands resemble those of a spry 80-year-old. Dave sometimes reaches over to hold my hand and then cringes, and places it gently back on my lap. I have blamed living in the desert Of Utah, but maybe it's just me?