|ME IN THE MOMENTS B.B.S. (Before Biblical Storm)|
Captioned: "I kind of love my new hair," which was apparently all it took to drive God absolutely mad with indignation.
I famewhored myself on social media yesterday and it did not go unnoticed by anyone. Including God. (He follows me on Instagram; I don’t know why you’re surprised.) It started when I got my hair done and, for a change, I kinda liked it. I've finally found a hairdresser who can pummel my frizz into submission, rendering it straight and sleek as a beaver pelt in under half an hour. So naturally I immediately thought “selfie,” despite the fact that I routinely verbally sodomize the Kardashians for doing this very thing. (Although to my credit, I at least have the decency to crop my bare arse out of my selfies. Most of the time.)
Anyway, "someone" up there was obviously watching this unbecoming ego bloat because without word of a lie, the very second I hit send and stepped off the bus, thunder rattled the skies and a deluge of biblical proportions rained down on my head. I'm not even kidding. It came out of nowhere. I emitted an ear-blistering shriek and ducked under a nearby tree ... yes, I know, not safe etc etc, I don't give a fuck, people, MY HAIR WAS AT STAKE ... and waited for the downpour to abate. "It can't keep up like this for long," I told myself. And I was right. It didn't. It came down harder and harder, and within minutes it was a pounding downpour that had soaked through the hat, the shopping bag and the shirt I'd draped over my head.
"Please, sweet Lord," I murmured, "I know I'm a bit of a jerk sometimes, but if you could just let my hair get through this unscathed, I'll behave. I'll stop saying mean things about Susan Fennell's ugly mullet. I won't swear ... as much." And it seemed to work, because within minutes the rained eased up a bit, so I made a run for it.
|ME IN THE MOMENTS AFTER THE B.S. BEGAN|
Sheltering under a tree, naively believing my hair might still have a chance. FOOL!
But I’d barely made it half a block when I realized it was just taking a deep breath so it could blow it out even harder. The rain was literally grabbing at my hair with both hands now, making jerking-off gestures with its raindrop fingers, laughing uproariously. I may have been hallucinating at this point. I don’t know, all I remember is darting into a bus shelter, cursing like a gangster, thinking I was alone and then hearing an anxious voice ask: "You okay, miss?"
I wheeled on him like it was all his fault.
"NO I AM NOT!" I shrieked at the poor bastard. "MY HAIR IS RUINED! GODDAMIT! AAAAAAGGHHH!!!"
We stood there in awkward silence for a few moments before the rain slowed ever so slightly and I made yet another dash for it, this time not even making it half a block before it gathered steam again.
This went on for close to half an hour before I finally made it home and burst into the powder room to survey the damage.
"Maybe it's not as bad as it feels," I thought, but one look in the mirror and that thought died a watery death.
Where there had formerly been smooth, glorious straightness there was frizz and bedraggled curls clinging limply to drenched skin. It was utterly ruined, and I was inconsolable.
Indeed, about the only comfort to be taken was the fact that I don't have to worry about keeping my unkeepable "I'll behave" promise to You-Know-Who. And I don't even know why I just called Him that: HE'S OBVIOUSLY NOT EVEN LISTENING!
EDITOR'S NOTE: You realize this entire post makes it sound like you actually think God has you on his "Must Watch" list?
MY NOTE: Yes and here is why. I don't expect you to get it.