Ladystubble, Soda Thief, and Self-Discovery

Yesterday at storytime (which was about shapes-- boring) I was not so much paying attention to the stories, and just looking at the other moms with their kids. There's one mom in particular that comes every week with her little girls, and over the last few months we've become friendly in that I-see-you-once-a-week-for-an-hour kind of way. I was looking at her kids, and then I looked at her, and noticed that she totally had a face full of stubble. And of course when you see something like that, you just want to keep looking. So I did. It was kind of freaky. I mean, what inspires a woman to start shaving her face? She was latina, of course, but even if she did feel like she had an excessive amount of facial hair... Nair, anyone? Waxing, perhaps? Dude. That's just not right.

So we had to leave storytime a little early for reasons that I promised not to blog about for the rest of the week. However, I really had to go to the grocery store to pick up some more soymilk and some other whatnots, and I figured if I went in quickly, ran around the store, and went through the self-check then no one would have to smell us. So I'm racing around the commissary, throwing things in my cart like I'm on one of those shopping sprees, I run to the self check and I'm trying to go as fast as I can, only it won't take my coupons and the lady had to come help me and the stenchcloud was building... finally I get out the car, get the kids in, get the groceries into the car... and find that I have not paid for my case of Kiwi Strawberry Shasta. It was on the bottom rack thing, you know? So I pause for a minute, wondering what to do. And to look around to see if the angry Korean women who work at the store are coming to collect their $2.35 in blood and tooth fragments. After a moment's deliberation, I decide not to wait for the Koreans and throw it in the car and take off. As of yet no one has shown up at my door with incriminating videotape, but I'm still a little nervous. I am also currently sipping a Kiwi Strawberry Shasta. Mmm. So then at Sam's Club today I got one of those .74 big gulp things and the guy didn't charge me for it. Look for me on America's Most Wanted, I'm the Soda Thief.

Lastly, I recently got a haircut because my perpetual ponytail was starting to give me a facelift I'm just not ready for. I stopped dying my hair a little over a year ago, and I told the lady to cut off enough to get rid of the last of the old dyed stuff. What I was left with was, to say the least, a bit shocking. Not the haircut (I'm a sexy B, if I do say so) but the fact that my hair is not actually blond-- my hair is brown. I've been dying my hair for about 10 years, and I always just assumed that it was the same color as the last time I saw it... blond. Not so. I have a head of brown hair. I thought it was darker in recent years, but once the last of the blond stuff was gone there was no doubt about it. Even Tom was surprised, despite the fact that I told him ahead of time. There's still a streak of blond in the front because it apparently doesn't grow as fast around my face, so that looks pretty gay. But otherwise... I really feel like I have to redefine my whole identity. I have assumed for many years that I was a blond, and to find out that I'm not... I am a brunette soda thief. I don't even know myself anymore. Who have I become???? (Because of my worry that my brain is disintegrating, I took an IQ test and was relieved to discover that it was 129, with a fussy baby on my lap. Tom swears his was like 136, but I challenged him to a duel because I refuse to believe that anyone is smarter than me, ever. It's kind of my thing. Anyway, the point is that at least I still know that part of myself. And to let you know that I'm smarter than everyone ever.)