Hair Like Meg Ryan

For our date night a while back, my husband and I ordered take-out and watched You’ve Got Mail. This was no Netflix and chill, though. Instead, we kicked it old school and watched the DVD I’ve had since I was in high school.

My grandmother was a fan of romantic comedies, so I watched a lot of those since I lived with her. She was a Meg Ryan super fan (until The Affair with Russell Crowe, sigh), and I became one too after watching You’ve Got Mail. As a teen who had recently gotten an Internet connection, I thought it was the most romantic thing ever. A smart guy! Who enjoys books! And can write! Such a guy didn’t exist in my class of 70-odd students (that I was aware of), so that movie gave my love life a little hope.

You know how couples have a song? It might be the first song they ever danced to together or the one they danced to at their wedding. This movie is our equivalent of that. (Well, technically we have a Song, too, and it’s not a Hanson song since my husband put his foot down.)

We went the same route as the characters, meeting online, taking forever to meet, and when we did it was amazeballs (well, it was amazeballs a couple months after we met, when my nervousness wore off and I didn’t treat him like a brother). Our story isn’t quite as interesting, and consists only of a few missed hints and involuntarily dodged kisses — no business war and all that — but otherwise IT’S EXACTLY THE SAME.

We were getting sappy and stuff while watching the movie, reciting lines here and there, like it was of Star Wars or Shakespeare importance, when it dawned on me that there was something about me that my husband didn’t know about me. Once you’ve been married to someone for 10 years, finding something new to share from one’s past is pretty major. It’s almost on the level of giving diamonds. Almost.

“Oh my god, that haircut!” I commented. “I loved that haircut when I was in high school. I had it for the better part of two years. But it never worked out for me.”

This is it, in case you haven’t watched You’ve Got Mail or just don’t remember:

Alternatively, you can look at the haircut here, if the doodle isn’t doing it for you.

Between my lack of being able to blow my wavy (but not curly, dammit) hair straight, it not being the right haircut for my face, and the crappy stylist whose cuts rarely resembled the picture given, the haircut didn’t work for me. It didn’t work the first time I was a sophomore in high school, or the second time adding blonde highlights, or even the 89th time, when I was a senior in high school, and I’d highlighted my hair so much that it was nearly straight up blonde. (This is when I realized I should just let it grow out and go back to my natural color.)

The idea of having Meg Ryan’s haircut was amusing to my husband.

“She wasn’t in her 40s at the time,” I said, defending my style choice for god knows what reason. “Probably like her 30s. Or mid-30s.”

“That’s really not better. You were 15!” he exclaimed.

“Almost 16, though. And it was a cute haircut! Just not on me. Which may be why I didn’t date more in high school.”

“Aw, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” he said. “Just pretty bad.”

(And if you think admitting you wanted the haircut of an older woman was bad, try admitting that you had a crush on Tom Hanks when you were 15…or 33, for that matter. Sigh.)

I didn’t show him my picture in the yearbook from that haircut — the one where I was wearing a plain white t-shirt for, again, god knows what reason. Add in being sweaty as hell because it was early September in SC, plus that haircut, and you’ve got loads of awfulness.

See? All the awfulness.

My sharing the haircut story pretty much ruined You’ve Got Mail from a romantic standpoint. The idea of wanting to look like a middle age woman in my teens kind of overshadows the whole “how we met” thing. That opens the door for making a Hanson song Our Song, though, so there’s that.

Have you ever aspired to look much older than you actually were, or otherwise have any interesting Bad Haircut stories to share?

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Methods of Torturing Mom (Or Any Other Female)

We always hear about how rough childbirth is. For sure, it’s no walk in the park, but usually it’s the one or two or three days of your life where the pain factor was high, and you walked out with a little bundle of joy, so that kinda balanced things out, right? Let’s talk about the day-to-day pains (physical or otherwise) that are pretty damn bad that a) don’t leave you with a bundle of joy and b) don’t make you elated in any way. 


The first one — underwire. OMFG. I know we’re supposed to avoid wearing bras with underwire for reasons I can’t think of (legit reasons, not “I’m afraid I’ll be stabbed and slowly bleed to death” reasons), but they’re more comfortable and supportive for me, so I do. It’s all good in the neighborhood until the wire that’s giving me a bit of form gets pissed off at all the work it’s doing and snaps. And then it’s like a drive by with a tiny sharp wire in my sideboob with every step I take until I free myself of the cursed contraption. I wouldn’t prefer labor with Little Man over the underwire, but I’ll take the C-section pain from after the spinal wears off over having to spend a day being stabbed by underwire.

And that brings me to epillators. I bought my first (and last) one a couple weeks ago. It was supposed to make my legs smooth for weeks, remove certain facial hairs that I don’t wanna bleach but want gone, and basically turn me from a 3 into about a 4.5. Lies, y’all, lies. Maybe I’m just doing it really wrong, but as far as I’m concerned, epillators are akin to medieval tools of torture. I have a high tolerance for pain, but I could only stand a few minutes of that. I want to box it up and send it back and leave a review calling it modern day torture, but they probably wouldn’t take it (and ew, would they resale a used epillator?). 10/10 I’d rather give birth to both kids again than shave both legs and other areas with that thing.

Hot wax. Hot not. Let me state for the record that the only thing I’ve ever had waxed is my eyebrows. Based on that, I can only imagine that ripping off hair in other areas would be godawful. Is it epillator bad? I don’t know and won’t be finding out just for the sake of this blog post.

Ain’t no flow like Aunt Flo. This one should go without saying, but look, it’s an angry uterus that looks like the Kool-Aid man ready to throw ovaries at you! As far as pregnancy comparisons go, I will say that some of these cramps have been every bit as intense as contractions. Not always, not often even, but it has happened. So, periods have their own torturous aspects. Plus, having to pay money for pads and tampons every month over the course of 40 or so years is a torture in its own right.

Crappy movies. Some of y’all will disagree with me on this. I know Lifetime sometimes shows legit movies, but when I’m flipping through, it usually isn’t. There are titles like “Who Killed Jenny’s Dad?” “Jenny’s Dad Returns: A Haunting” “The Face on the Milk Carton: The Untold Story of the Mysterious Disappearance of Jenny” and “Double Haunting: Ghosts Dad and Jenny Terrorize Mom.” Or something like that. You know how everyone says watching certain kids’ cartoons, like Peppa Pig or Spongebob, is torture? Well, Lifetime is about ten times worse. One day the kids are gonna find out that channels like Lifetime and Hallmark exist and are gonna want to know why we talked all that smack.

Laundry mountain. Maybe I shouldn’t be directing my hate at washing machines. After all, all it does is stand there. What I should be directing my frustration to is the individuals in my home who toss clean clothes in the hamper; the individuals who puke all over everything; the individuals who can’t go a week without spilling drinks all over. But, nah, I love my family, so I’ll hate on the washing machine and the laundry mountain that it eventually creates, and then cry online about having to fold everything being like delivering triplets with no medication. (Just kidding.)

So, torture…if you’re really pissed off at me, a great way to get back at me is to make me watch Lifetime movies while folding clothes while wearing a bad bra while on my period while you apply hot wax to one leg and go after the other with an epillator. 

So, what would you add to your list of things that you find torturous? And men, what makes you go, “This is worse than a cold”?

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