It's not easy living with a brown-haired blonde

Trena Eiden, local commentary
Posted 4/8/21

I use a hair product called “Freeze-It” to keep my mop in place and my motto is, “One can never, no not ever, use too much hairspray.”

This item is available in full to subscribers.

Please log in to continue

Log in

It's not easy living with a brown-haired blonde

Posted

I use a hair product called “Freeze-It” to keep my mop in place and my motto is, “One can never, no not ever, use too much hairspray.” I buy such an abundance; I asked my CPA bestie if she could find a loophole so I could use it as a tax deduction. Sadly, she’d been a great disappointment in this area.

Since Gar is delicate he gets all choked up and has trouble breathing when I use Freeze-It, so to keep him from suffocating I turn on the fan. I must admit that one day I forgot to vent it and when I finished spraying, my nose hairs appeared wooly like old buffalo chaps.

As a college freshman, our daughter Lunny was spraying her hair with Freeze-It, when her roommate screamed, “You’re burning your brain cells with that stuff!” And Lunny, knowing how much her mother uses, didn’t doubt it for a minute.

For years the only place I could get this hair plaster was K-Mart, and after its demise I couldn’t find it anywhere until I went online at Walmart. Since I’m in a city for the winter, I ordered it as usual, but instead of sending it UPS, Walmart had a courier take it to our address, which is a box at a UPS store. Unbeknownst to me, some Walmart stores carry it here and deliver it the same day. They dropped it on the sidewalk in front of the door after the UPS store was closed. It was readily pilfered so I’m guessing the next woman we see looking like she stuck her finger in a light socket, there’s our gal.

For some corporations, that would have been a clue or a learning curve, but not Walmart. Not harboring ill will on the company, the next day I called and they sent more, but this time the courier called me to say he was bringing it to wherever my physical address might be. I gave it to him and waited, and waited and waited. After an hour he emailed stating he’d delivered it, complete with a photo showing it had been dropped on a doorstep. This would have been a dandy happenstance except it wasn’t my doorstep. I tried to call, text and email, but couldn’t get the guy, so I called Walmart to ask where he might be. They didn’t know either so simply gave my money back.

After five phone calls to local stores I found the Walmart that carried it and, after church, Gar and I drove over to pick some up. I’d just got through telling Gar that when I’m by myself, I always try to make sure of where I’ve parked and where I am. Obviously, I’m a liar. He stayed in the car while I went in, found my items and as I started for the exit, the thought crossed my mind that I hadn’t looked at the row where I’d parked. I got outside and started walking and watching, but wasn’t making headway. Calling Gar, I told him I didn’t appreciate him moving the car. Little joke, hee hee. I could tell he wasn’t amused and I could feel him rolling his eyes. He said, “We’re parked under the big tree.” I told him, “No, we aren’t, I’m under the big tree.” Seeming somewhat annoyed, he said dryly, “Well, look west.” He was being purposely vexing, because he knows I’m compass challenged. This was when I knew it wouldn’t be hairspray that did him in. I was going to suffocate my husband with a Walmart bag.

I said, “Don’t give me dumb help, I need real assistance, like left or right.” Still thinking he was a comedian, he said, “How about looking toward the sun, you know, where it’s going down.” I said something that I’m not confessing to here, and Gar, sounding bored, said he could see me. I said I couldn’t see him. He sighed, “Look to your right and you’ll see an arm out a window and if you watch carefully, you’ll notice it’s waving, and it’s probably attached to my hand.” Two cars away I saw him, and as I got closer, I noticed he was frowning in real disgust. After 41 years don’t you think he should be immune? I got in and said, “Look, on the day you asked me to marry you, I told you I was blond underneath brown roots, so it’s on you.” He sighed. It’s not easy living with a brown-haired blonde.

Trena Eiden            trenaid@hotmail.com