Today I went to Target.
With my mother. I love my mother. Most people do. Except for those people who haven't been born yet and those who have yet to meet her. She is loving and oh, so patient and kind and generous and selfless and always somehow aware of when I need new toothpaste and loofahs and could use a trip to Target.
Now. Target is usually thebomb.com. Margaret Roop and I can spend days in Target. I know many of my friends feel the same way. However, I must confess myself to be a little disappointed in Target's items as of late. Usually I find six hats, four T-shirts, nine candy bars, and three or four backpacks that I absolutely need on any given trip. Not so lately. I feel the latest round of women's clothing looks more like draperies for people who are whimsical but also boring. Zero fascinating backpacks = zero backpacks with animals printed on them. There haven't even been any necklaces with rotary telephone or fist-sized spider charms (I have these both- if you're shopping for me).
Today was different. Most likely because my mother is magical shopper when it comes to me. Items she will hold up for my inspection which I would upon first glance hurl to the floor and roll my cart over wind up looking surprisingly suitable on my person.
I even found........a spring hat. Well, my mother did. And, as I say above, I scoffed at first. Then I perched it on my head and went off to the sunglasses section in search of a mirror. Not bad. I return to our cart. An extremely tall woman dressed as Jan Powell glances at me as she passes with her own cart and says to my mother- "Soooooo cute on her!" So we got that.*
We also found some very cute little, erm...shortlets? Shorts with a sleeveless top attached to them. I don't know what these types of clothes are called. But I do know this: these types of clothes are not for we,
The Long-Crotched. Boy howdy. That crotch seam slices neatly into place right at the base of your ribcage. And on top of that, or below that, as it were, the bottom hem of the shorts reveals everything. Navel down.
I am not wearing that.
We did find a dear little dress which I like very much, and which my mother pointed out will look especially cute on me once we get some Neosporin for my skinned knee. Scabs: not in this season.
On the way to the Neosporin aisle, we encounter a tall girl covered in tattoos who stops me mid-monologue about how I am now accomplished enough to put on false eyelashes to say, "I love your hat! That kitten pin! And you know how to put on eyelashes! You're a god!" I smile. She proceeds to point out to me her three kitten tattoos and her one unicorn tattoo which she has because, she says, "I AM a unicorn." So that makes sense. As we part ways, I feel I should be very friendly to her as she has been so friendly to me. I reach around in my mind for what to say as the distance between us grows. Finally it comes to me- "I hope you have a very good day," I say brusquely over my shoulder. So, I don't know. I guess she heard me.
And then tonight- I stood on a green piece of fabric holding a Post-It note in front of Robyn O'Neill and looked, by turns: perplexed, frustrated, surprised, and frightened. John Moon is responsible for this activity as well.
Robyn tells me that she took her youngest daughter to River City Tattoo last night to celebrate her tenth birthday......
To get her ears pierced. Still. That's pretty rad.
Then I found out about hair splinters. Did you know about this? I did not.
Turns out- when hair stylists cut your hair, they cut on an angle.** When the snipped pieces fall to the floor, if you- the stylist- are barefoot or wearing open-toed shoes, those snipped pieces can slide into your flesh as easily as a splinter of wood. And they reportedly hurt. Beth, the talented stylist who was dealing with my hair tonight, tells me, "at any time I could have the hair of up to thirty people inside my body."
So that's a horror movie waiting to happen.
As the cherry on top of the day- I have received an invitation from Beth and my new friend Sterling to come into the salon on Monday and have myself a Brazilian Blowout.*** I'm sure I'll have a lot to say about that.
*After long minutes of detailed surgery with a fork, my knife, and a bobby pin, my mother and I managed to affix my Summer Kitten Face Brooch to my new Summer Hat. I am VERY pleased. So pleased I moved my blue rubber dolphin lamp from my side table to make room for an artful portrait setting for my Summer Hat and my Winter Hat together as a full set.
**I actually did know this because I played Annelle in a production of "Steel Magnolias" once and got to learn the basics of hair cuttery in Jim Morgan's laundry room. Joy Williams used to let me give her trims in the dressing room at Swift Creek Mill after that. I'll cut your hair too.
***Brazilian Blowout: having one's hair infused with a special serum and then blown dry and straightened to achieve a lasting, frizz-free effect. Does not involve having hair ripped violently from your personal area to the tune of a zesty bowel movement, as the name would suggest.
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