My hair is about the same texture. And I own a brush.
My parents were generous with the genes. I have ten fingers, can perform simple arithmetic in my head, and am generally employable. Let’s be clear on my gratitude before I start to whine.
One area in which their chromosomes did not work to my favor? Hair. I was a bald baby, and – based on the hair in my shower drain – am returning that state with haste. Which, while acceptable for a man, is a serious curse as woman.
My sister and her family came out to visit last week since it was Spring Break in Michigan. Sadly, DC didn’t deliver its usual dose of spring beauty – it was unseasonably cool (high of 50!) and rainy while they were here. Bummer.
The trip did allow for a revelation: I decided my youngest nephew (now eight years-old) should host a reality show. He’s cut from the cloth of Simon Cowell.
It was his first time visiting my new place, so he paced around inspecting it. “This is really nice,” he pronounced. “But you know what you need? You need a 48″ flatscreen right above your fireplace. That would make it better.”
“Nah,” I told him. “Televisions are for boring people who can’t entertain themselves.”
He considered that. “Not really. You could also use it to play Wii, and you can learn a lot from a Wii.” Noted.
The next morning I was sitting in the living room working on my laptop. “You’re boring,” he said. “All you do is sleep and work on your computer. You even have your groceries delivered. Do you ever leave your house?”
Ironically, I generally walk about 25 miles per week, but I didn’t bother to correct him. “Not really,” I said.
“Never?” he asked.
“Have you seen me leave?” I pushed.
Last week when I posted about our trip to the Library of Congress, I was primarily fixated on the bitchy woman who worked security. I completely didn’t do the rest of the visit justice.
If you like books or architecture, then the LOC should be on your must-see list when you visit DC. It’s free (like almost every other cultural destination in this fine city), and it’s a gem.
I take any willing guest there if faced with a rainy day, but it’s been years since I took the guided tour. The building is loaded with symbolism, and over the years my explanations have gotten a bit thin.
“See that statue there? She represents travel, which is why she’s holding onto a train.”
<A docent sadly shakes his head as he walks by.>
So this time, knowing my dad is history buff, I suggested we all take the guided tour. Much better than me making shit up that he’d be able to call me on.
I think this is called "poor planning."
What is it about law enforcement that attracts power-hungry people? Yesterday, passing through the security at the Library of Congress, we encountered a guard who clearly enjoyed any way she could flex her power. Never did she smile, or accompany her bossy words with anything other than a belittling sneer.
As I prepared to go through the metal detector, she called out, “Put your coat on the conveyor belt.” Guess where I was standing? Next to the conveyor belt with my coat in my hand, ready to place it there without her instruction. At that moment I decided she was the type of person who would say, “Breathe!” just so she could claim your body’s functions were entirely of her doing.
I made it through metal detector just fine, as did my mom. But when we turned back to check on my dad – who generally has not one but four different items (glasses, radio, binoculars and clipboard) hanging around his neck at any given time – it was clear that we might need to sit down.
Alas, that wasn’t an option. “You can’t stand there!” the crabby woman snarled at us. “Keep moving.” (Never mind that there was not a line of people trying to enter the building and the area was in no way congested.)
With her thought process, this is what my sister's sons' braces might look like. Except I have no idea who this kid is.
My parents are coming to visit this weekend, so they hit the road earlier this morning. Around noon I got a message from my mom, calling to tell me that she had just done something and there was sizable chip in one of her front teeth that was large enough to make her self-conscious.
I immediately called my dentist and scheduled an emergency visit for her tomorrow to fix it. Then I emailed my sister and updated her on the situation. This is her response:
My solution would have been to unbend a paper clip and superglue it across her front teeth so it looks like she’s in a temporary set-up from a hockey injury. That’s what they did with me last summer when I broke off the one tooth and bent the two others: bend them back out and glue a wire across to hold everything in place. With all that metal, no one noticed the missing tooth. And if they did, they just though I was badass. Cuz I didn’t give a shit.
My mom should be glad she’s visiting me instead of her other daughter.
And I think we all know who she’s going to want to be her caregiver when she’s too old to dress herself.
pithypants 
