A Penny For My Thoughts

Can I just share with ya'll that last night I took my dog out for a walk and the mo'fo pulled me into the grass, caused me to step in a shit ton of mud and when I yelled to him, "Slow down, ya asshole" he just looked at me as if I gave him a compliment. Special, that one. And would you know that when I came back inside to shower and get ready for work I had a revelation? 

If you look in the cabinet above the toilet in our bathroom you will notice a plethora of hair products. An entire shelf is filled with every hair product imaginable. From shampoo and conditioner to heat protectant and scrunching gel. If you don't know what scrunching gel is then chances are you have straight hair so fuck you. You can wash your straight hair and not do shit to it and not have to put anything in it and you can go about your day with your straight hair and you'll still look somewhat presentable with your straight hair. I have this curly mess goin' on and I need 798,343 products to tame this beast. No wash and wear for this girl; I gotta slather on product after product to look like I even give two shits about my appearance. And if I wanna look smoking hot I gotta put in work! Like, at least an hour and a half is spent with some sort of tool involving heat, whether it be a blow-dryer, flat iron or curling iron. 

When I was little my Aunt Penny would do my hair for hours at a time. First off, she'd wash my hair in the kitchen sink. Do you know how brutally painful that is on your neck? Then she'd sit me in a kitchen chair while she dried and styled my hair. This lasted fo' eva, especially since it takes a ridiculously long time to blow dry my hair. Ironically, I began spending hours on my own hair even as a child, experimenting with different styles and products. But of course I just pissed and moaned about my aunt dipping my head in and out of a kitchen sink and didn't admit that I was taking mental notes of the things she was doing to my hair. So years later, as a teen, my Aunt Penny came to visit and she saw that my entire bathroom cabinet was filled with different hair products. She called me in the bathroom, pointed to the open cabinet, nodded her head and smiled her big, contagious smile and said, "Niece, I taught you well" in a 'patience grasshopper' tone of voice.

So this current cabinet full of hair products seemed to just slap me in the face. I looked at it and just broke down. I broke down because it made me think of my Aunt Penny. The Aunt that groomed me into the hair product hoarding woman I am today. The Aunt that named a rose bush after my husband after he helped my dad and uncle dig a million holes in her yard for her rose bushes. The Aunt that was a part of my life when so many of my other Aunts weren't. I broke down not because I'm selfishly upset that she was far too young when she passed away but because I was reminded of just how fragile life is. I was reminded that we aren't promised tomorrow. I was reminded to hug people too tight and kiss Seth too long. I was reminded to let the people I care about know exactly how much they mean to me. To forgive and let go. To smile and find the good in situations. To be grateful for what and who I have in my life. I was reminded that life is fucking amazing! That waking up everyday is a gift. That every second we have on this earth should be used for something we'd be proud of looking back on. I was reminded that each and every one of us has control with how the story of our lives plays out. We have the ability to do things and take chances. Life's too short to be a people pleaser and not have fun. It's too short to be ordinary. Step outside of the box. Do something you've always wanted to do but have been too afraid to do it. Don't worry about what other people may think - simply live your life. 

My Aunt penny reminded me (via my bathroom cabinet filled with 20 too many hair products) that I need to continue to take an optimistic approach on life. It taught me to calm the hell down about the mud puddle my dog pulled me in to. It taught me to notice that those mud puddles are meant for playing in. Because even though my sandals were covered in mud and the bottom of my jeans were wet, it reminded me that I'm alive. I'm here. With the opportunity to do what I want and love. It reminded me to color outside the lines and get a little dirty sometimes rather than constantly keeping tidy and playing it safe…because honestly, where's the fun in that?

And yeah, this situation inspired me to make that art you saw at the beginning of this post. Guess where I put it... Yeah, in the bathroom, across from my cabinet-o-products.

Get out there and do something, dammit.


Lor