You single people don't know how good you have it. While Y was on this trip -- Tuesday through Saturday--, I realized I could forgo taking a shower for four days straight and no one would notice. Another perk: leaving the house an absolute mess and cleaning up only just before someone came over. Why didn't you guys tell me about this stuff before I decided to go and get married?
The other great thing about Y leaving for a week is what I like to call Operation Summer Vacation. If you were like me in middle school and high school, you were nerdy, chubby, and, well, in great need of a makeover.
Every year as the final bell rang on the last day of school, you smiled to yourself and thought, This is it. This is the summer I will become hot. I'll work out everyday. I'll get a tan. I will read Seventeen magazine very carefully to build up a show-stopping wardrobe. When I come back, no one will recognize me.
If you were like me in middle school and high school, this never worked. You came back to school with a farmer's sunburn and some scary new moles, as chubby as ever and - if your parents really hated you - with braces.
Regardless, when Y left on Tuesday Operation Summer Vacation was in full swing. I got my eyebrows waxed (not like he's ever noticed that), worked out every day, and made an appointment to get a hairstyle that I knew Y would not only actually notice, but really love -- bangs.
I sat in the chair at the salon, an hour before Y returned, freshly showered for the first time in four days. My stylist spun me around to see my new bangs. "All done!" she beamed, "What do you think?"
I only had a nanosecond to look at myself before jumping up. "They're fine!" I blurted out, ripping off my cape, throwing money at her, and running to my car. The thing was, all I saw was that they were closer to my hairline than my eyebrows. And that was all I needed to see -- they were too short and anything she tried to do to fix them would just make them shorter. She needed to stop touching them immediately.
It's just hair, I told myself. Surely it will look better in the car mirror, right? They couldn't possibly be as short as they looked in the salon... right? And even if they are, maybe I can pull off short bangs. I was feeling pretty good about myself by the time I got to my car and opened the mirror.
The good news: it turns out only one side was too short.
Operation Summer Vacation had failed again. When Y walked in the door the first thing he said was "your hair looks weird" followed by stifled laughter and a week of jokes at my expense.
Just like middle school.