When one stays home with her children, one learns valuable lessons that one would never have learned out in the workplace. For instance, today I learned that spinach + ham + applesauce = shit that smells like a perm.
The smell of a perm arising from the poop of Gabby’s butt has brought back a flood of memories.
Permenant wave, memories.
I was only 12 years old the first time I was allowed the honor of having my hair wrapped up in rows of curlers and doused with horrific smelling chemicals with the promise of “permanently wavy” hair.
It took hours, but when it was finished, OH MY GOD, I looked so HOT. At least I thought I did. I remember that day in vivid detail. Lucky for you, I’ll spare you most of those details, but let’s just say, when my cousin was done administering The Perm, my shit no longer stank.
I left that mobile home park thinking I was the most beautiful girl that ever lived and I could not fucking WAIT to get home and show off my perm to the neighborhood gang (A.K.A Joe the mentally retarded boy, Brandy the girl with the mole on her lip, Rhonda the slut and Jimmy the boy who made me feel funny down there.)
The minute we arrived back home, I went running to find The Gang so I could brag about how hot I looked and brag.I.Did. I was a total bitch about it. “Look at my beautiful hair, Brandy! I bet you wish your hair looked this beautiful! Too bad it doesn’t!” And so on, and so forth.
This is where my memory gets a little fuzzy. All I remember is one minute I’m bragging to Brandy about my perm, the next minute… STRAWBERRY FUCKING MILK IS ALL UP IN MY FRESHLY PERMED HAIR!!
I started screaming and crying because, you’re not supposed to wash your hair for 48 hours! I ran home to my mom, washed my hair and watched my dreams of PERMANENTLY WAVED HAIR go down the drain.
Ah, the memories a little baby shit can stir up.
God, I LOVED that perm, all two hours of it.