Well the hurt doesn’t show, but the pain still grows
It’s no stranger to you and me
I can feel it coming in the hair tonight, oh Lord
with apologies to Phil Collins.
I don’t know what the hell it is with the Wife, but just when I think she can’t surprise me, she comes up with some new freakish behaviour. The good thing is, it keeps me blogging.
We both work from home. The wife is five days a week, I’m most of the time. I go into the office a couple of times a month. We have adjoining offices in the basement, which is cool. I get to spend coffee breaks and the odd lunch with the wife, even though we work for completely different companies.
But there’s a darker side to working alongside the Wife. The ugly side.
The times when one of her screens craps out and suddenly I’m her first tech call. The times when she’s on a call but still wants the damn mail and I’m the first call to go get it. The “hey can you go upstairs and bring me <the laundry/a coffee/a glass of water/something else>?” moments.
And then there’s a few days ago. Shit got weird.
I’m sitting in my office, doing my Work Stuff when I hear a small, pathetic, “help.” I didn’t know what she was calling for, but it wasn’t her normal shriek, so I finished up what I was doing, then strolled over to her office. I rounded the corner of the doorway and I saw the Wife sitting in her desk chair, her head tilted toward me imploringly, her face to the floor. She said, “what the hell took you so long?” as I realized what she’d been calling my help for.
Snaggled in her hair was her over-the-head telephone headset. I don’t know what the hell she’d done, but that sucker had firmly ensconced itself in her hair. And she obviously couldn’t get the thing out judging from the way her hands fluttered about it.
It was quite humorous, let me tell you.
So after I finished laughing at her, we got her untangled and I went back to my office, chuckling.
About an hour later, she’d run up to have a quick shower during lunch. I got something to eat, then wandered upstairs to see if she was done so I could hop in myself. On the way up, I knew she was done because I could hear the curling iron-blow dryer thingamabob going. Then I heard something else.
I heard a plaintive cry for help.
I laughed and continued moseying up the stairs. “Real funny,” I said.
I rounded the corner and saw the Wife standing at the bathroom counter, her head tilted toward me imploringly, her face to the floor. She said, “what the hell took you so long?” as I realized what she’d been calling my help for.
Snaggled in her hair was her curling iron-blow dryer thingamabob. I don’t know what the hell she’d done this time, but that thing had pretty much chewed up her hair and made itself a brand new nest on her scalp. And she obviously couldn’t get the thing out judging from the way she held it with one hand while the other fluttered about it.
It was quite humorous, let me tell you.
I laughed even louder this time. She demanded that I get the thing out. “Okay,” I said. “But can we shut it off and unplug it first?”
That’s when her nervous giggles started. While I unglued the thing from her head (it truly was stuck on there better than an alien facehugger), she told me that she’d been starting to panic, not knowing how she was ever going to get me if I didn’t get within earshot. Because she was essentially anchored to the wall. With a running blow dryer.
It never occurred to her to shut it off. Or that she could unplug it.
I swear the Wife is not blonde, nor is she a stupid woman.
But man, there are times…
Over the course of the rest of the day, she also managed to to get a brush and her sunglasses snagged in the same fashion.
So, she’s kind of like a Medusa with no control of her locks. Or they’ve been possessed by a capricious demonic force intent on sucking anything in that comes close to her melon.
Or her head’s got some magnetic power. Call it telemagnesis.
I’ve heard of people letting their hair down, but never being let down by their hair. Until the Wife, that is.