1. Hair braiding and bonding. Last night my husband tried to French braid my hair. I know what you’re thinking, and no, he’s not gay (although I’m not in any way opposed to the idea of a marriage to a gay man). Note to self: next life. Here’s how the home hair-doing went down at around 12:30 AM. Pardon the photo quality, he didn’t know I was photographing him. He thought I was merely “checking my tweets.”
Me: Yossef, wake up, I can’t fall asleep. I think I want sex. Or I’m tired. Actually, I don’t know which one feels more important to me right now.
Husband: Haha, ok, I’m already asleep. Just sleep. We’ll have sex in the morning and you can rest now.
Me: Can I get a consolation back rub or something? <disgruntled looks ensue> Actually, can I have a head rub instead? My head hurts.
Husband: Why your head hurts? (imagine this in a grainy, foreign, hummusy accent)
Me: When you’re a girl with long hair and you wear it up all day it starts to hurt… you know, the weight of the hair hurts your scalp.
Husband: I had long hair in the early 90’s when I lived in Japan. I braided it, you should try braiding it.
Me: Wait, what? There are so many things in that last statement that concern me I don’t even know where to begin. In the meantime, I grew up with brothers… I’m not great at braiding. This sucks. I can’t braid my own hair and now my daughter will have a lifetime of braidlessness.
Husband: Ok, go get a comb and a brush, I’m going to braid your hair.
Me: <hysterical laughter> OK.
And so a 45 minute process of somewhat painful hair braiding began. I asked him if he was lying about braiding his own hair, if he really just had a weird over-controlling ex girlfriend that requested this sort of nonsense. He insisted no, but I didn’t really believe him till the process ended with a lumpy, messy, uncomfortable braid that suggested his only experience was watching his little sister braid her own hair somewhere on the beaches of Israel like 20 years ago. The good news? I got my husband to at least consider doing my hair. Because our language barrier is still somewhat significant and the hour was pretty late, we wrapped with a request for him to do my hair every morning before work as practice. He said OK. Sadly, he didn’t do my hair this morning. In fact, he looked really uninterested in the idea of it when I brought it up, and casually reminded me that he was more interested in the challenge than the actual act last night. Next up: challenging him to bake fresh croissants.
The result:
2. Shoes. Um, can we take a hot minute to look at these? ShoeDazzle makes them. Cheap and drool-worthy, people. Oh, and I’m here on Instagram… let’s like each other’s stuff.
3. I did the unthinkable. Here we are nearly 4 months post-baby and I still have a few lingering pounds left. Now, the reasonable way to approach this would be to go to the gym and cut back on my French cheese addiction. However, I am hardly a reasonable lady. I’ve decided my happiness depends on keeping my life almost entirely as-is, so my only real option here was to cut out my daily hot cocoa. That’s like 250 calories per day, so a month or two from now I should be sitting pretty in my old pantaloons (assuming I don’t get all crackhead and replace the hot cocoa with a tea latte or something). Fingers crossed that chocolate lip balm a la 3rd grade will be enough to power me through the rest of winter.
