Something to read as I work on my next novel.
I recently wrote an article on how to talk yourself out of cutting your hair. That was dear to my heart, because I too was tempted to go for a “cute, short Christmas haircut,” just to mix things up.
I did talk myself out of it, luckily. However, I decided on an ombre instead.
I was telling my coworker about my hair ideas when she mentioned her sister. “She’s in school now, so I bet you she’ll do it for cheap.”
Polite follow-up question: has she done it before?
So I complained and cried on Monday about not being able to get my ears pierced, but I wanted to get it over with. Quickly. Before I changed my mind. Before my family changed my mind or anyone else.
And I just don’t like waiting.
Yesterday I went and did it.
One hour before Wednesday night church service, I picked up Chris (he sort of wanted to come, sort of didn’t have a choice) and went straight to the mall, where we would’ve began arguing about the true location of Claire’s in regards to the closest ideal parking space on the outside. But I don’t go to the mall often, and definitely not for Claire’s, and Chris is a guy and probably didn’t know the store existed. So I parked somewhere near a middle entrance and started there.
Of course we went the wrong way on the first try, three-sixtied, and came back.
I drug my mom to Saphora yesterday. Saphora is that loud makeup store in JCPenny’s. Or maybe it stands alone where you are, I don’t know.
I don’t know anything about the products that are in Saphora, except for the fact that they’re expensive, and I don’t understand why.
If you’re shopping with my mom, you have to have a reason you’re going to a certain store and it has to be logical. My mom isn’t a shopper. She’s a getin-getout-ter. Staring at pretty things, trying stuff on without the intention of buying it, it’s not her cup of tea.
I told her I was going in to check about this pimple spot treatment thing I heard about while watching YouTube. We stood outside, staring at the outer shelves of Benefit and Tarte makeup, I felt good about myself because I knew a few things about those brands, then stepped inside. And my knowledge hit a dead end.
I’m going to categorize this post under life and writing, because the same is true for both.
A couple Mondays ago, I sent this spazzy sounding tweet into the world. It went a little something like this. .
Anyway, I was stoked!
A few days before, my dad told me he got a text from one of his friends from church saying they needed a babysitter Monday and Tuesday, and can Rebekah do it? . . I’ve never babysat a day in my life. Never changed a diaper (obviously). Never even held a baby.
They said I was hired.
Everyone hates the dentist. I feel bad for dentists because this fact is true. It’s nothing against them as people, of course. It’s just that the general public doesn’t like to be picked and prodded and asked, as full grown adults, whether they’ve flossed and brushed, and why not? etc.
I’m no exception to this. I don’t like the dentist. . For a vast number of reasons, actually. I’ll get into these in a second. But anyway, last week, I had to go for my biannual check-up.
I’m eighteen now, so I have to sign for everything, which is weird. And then of course my mom pays for it, haha. After signing, I sat in the waiting room a while, until this young looking guy took me back and did my ex-rays. Next, I was put in the chair with my bib and the dentist came in and told me I had a small cavity, needed to get my sealants redone, and have I ever gotten a orthodontist consultation? (All my life, that’s all I’ve ever heard. Since my teeth have grown IN, they’ve been trying to strap metal to them. . It hurts the ego.) I told her politely that I have, so she left, and I started reading People’s magazine.
I quickly got engrossed in the devastating story of Baby Hope, the little girl they found stuffed in a cooler on the side of the road. Somehow, I didn’t realize there was a man sitting in the corner of the room. The man my dentist was saying “number 15 needs a new sealant, 14’s fine” and such. He suddenly spoke up and I almost jumped out of my skin and whacked him with the magazine. I didn’t. But wouldn’t that have made a good story? Haha, just had to share that.
Anyway. He told me that if they had the chance, they’d get my sealants done that day. But it didn’t happen, which is why I was back today. Oh goodie.
