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HAIR AND PURSES
One of the great disadvantages of being a long distance father is missing all the daily clues... the small but significant occurrences that foretell impending change in the everyday life of one's child or children. Since mom is there everyday (and every evening and every night), she becomes gradually adjusted to the changes in a pre teen.. she sees them coming long before they get there and knows when phases end and fads begin. I went, some time ago, to pick up my daughter for a visit.
When last I had seen her, she had pretty clothes, clean fingernails, normal hair and she listened to Garth Brooks and Alan Jackson. Bounding into the front seat of my car came this.... Mall creature. Each of her fingernails were a different color, some more than one color. Her hair, once soft and straight and wind tossed, devil-may- care to the vagaries of each breeze, was now... different. It wasn't green or purple or half shaved.. Nothing so dramatic as that... Just suddenly deliberate and specific. For years this child had detested anything designed for hair care including brushes, combs (no matter how decorative), hair ties and particularly those geeky head bands that Paula Poundstone makes fun of. Now suddenly a hair brush had become an extended part of her anatomy, almost another limb.. Clutched in her fist like a blanky with a backup in her purse.. (more about the purse in a moment..) Before the door had even properly closed she was feverishly repairing the cosmetic hair damage brought on by the brief walk down the short driveway. Only when she was sure that each hair was parallel once more and in it s proper spot did she return my rear view mirror to it s functional position and smile and reach across to plant a short careful kiss on my cheek.
As a natural fatherly reaction I leaned over and ruffled her hair, as I had always done. Her face took on the immediate expression of a freshly slapped child. I tried to laugh it off but it was clear that my action had not been taken in the intended spirit. Many miles fell beneath the wheels before she managed to balance the holocaust committed to her coif with the knowledge of a fun loving father who has always hated pretentiousness almost as much as snotty boiled eggs. How was I supposed to know???
I tried explaining to her that in the time of our separation she had evidently changed her priorities. I had not been there for the daily increases of attention to looks or fashion... Style had taken a new prominence over substance in her fresh attitude and I had missed the changing of the guard. It didn't take long for me to realize that this wasn't the only significant change.
Like a complete idiot, apparently dissatisfied with the amount of foot that I already had in my mouth, I commented on her purse and it s abundant size.... Something completely inane like.. "what on earth do you carry around in that thing? - your room???" I have two ex wives and the resultant mothers- in-law. I have a mother and a sister and two daughters. I now live with a woman who has two daughters and I have worked with and around women all of my life. One would think that I would have learned by now never to ask a woman what she has in her purse. In fact, one of my ex ma s-in-law carried not one or two but three massive suitcase-size purses with her at all times and was constantly complaining that she didn't have enough room....
Men don t understand this... Men, in fact, don t even like to think about this. Men can put everything they ever need on a daily basis into one wafer thin billfold and still complain that it s too big. I have half a theory that some women even join the ranks of the homeless simply so that they can be afforded the perceived luxury of a shopping cart to carry all their stuff around in.... My daughter began to empty her purse onto the bench seat between us.. And then onto the floor at her feet. She was still going strong when I stopped her before she went on to fill up the back seat. I had foolishly assumed that she would have a clean hanky, a comb, an emergency quarter, a polite lipstick and maybe one of those gigapet things.. I wasn't prepared for the explosion of make-up and audio components, address books and photo albums, keys.. (keys??? - for a twelve year old???) Cameras, brushes and hair fixin s, diaries and letters, medicines and maps...(Maps??) I glanced in shock at the tower of treasures and trash that threatened to topple and crush me. I noticed a handful of cassettes, sans covers, but they didn't look like Garth or any other clean cut country hat- guy. They had strange names and she asked me to play one in the car. Mercifully the tape deck was broken.. (honest...It was)
Hair and purses.. Gentlemen beware and be warned... Proceed at your own peril.
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