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Sarahthequeen05

I am a spunky 25-year-old living in a suburb of Tampa. I was relocated here with my husband of 2 years from western North Carolina when the Air Force decided that we were needed in sunny Florida! I had almost all the best times of my life at Salem College in Winston-Salem, NC, the oldest women's c...

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Pink is the New Blonde

Sarah Davis-Harwood

Ok, so I’m pissed right now.  For some reason, the Skirt! site sometimes construes my use of the backspace key as a reason to move my browser back to the page before this one.  I’ve lost 6 blogs now this way, and usually I copy them multiple times so that I don’t lose them entirely, but I forgot today.

First blog had a really happy tone- like, giddy happy.  I’ll try to replicate it with this one, but I’m not sure how it will work out.  In case you were wondering, here's why I was so happy (hint- not the earrings or the shirt, though I guess they make me pretty happy, too):

It’s pretty awesome, right?  LIKE, THE MOST FABULOUS PINK WIG IN THE WHOLE WORLD.  And I found it at Target.  And it was only $7 on sale.  And I love it like the firstborn that I’ll never have.  It’s like a cross between Pat Benatar and a Fraggle.

I haven’t worn a wig before, ever, not for Halloween or for the whole bald cancer thing.  I just couldn’t imagine finding a wig as awesome as my actual hair.  This pink one comes pretty close, mostly because it looks nothing like my actual hair.  It’s not trying to usurp my real hair from the hair throne that is my head.

Obviously, I went grocery shopping today.  I should have chemo tomorrow, but I don’t, because Hubby has a golf tournament.  In the spirit of school field days, there is a weeklong barrage of sports events on base, (your tax dollars at work).  Hubby’s doing golf Tuesday and volleyball on Friday.  And to further fuel any Top Gun fantasies that you might already have, Hubby’s shop plays volleyball on the beach next to the bay every Friday for PT.

I’d like to tell you that all the guys are really hot, but I can’t, since I’ve only met a third of them (eh-not so much), and I’m not allowed to go watch them actually play.  But, a girl can dream, can’t she?

So, we’ve moved chemo to Wednesday so that Tiger can go and drive and chip and putt his way into MacDill AFB athletic history.  I’m cool with that since it means that I have an extra day to feel slightly more normal before the chemical warfare starts.  (And that metaphor isn’t just catchy, it’s a nod to history- the first chemotherapies for Hodgkin’s were slightly modified forms of mustard gas from World War I.)

Target was fun today.  Starbucks had hot chocolate, which was good, since I nearly froze to death in Target when I had hair, and it’s so much worse now. Especially on my forearms- goosebumps are for naught since I have practically no hair with which to trap warm air and keep it close to my skin.

All the Target people were super-friendly, as usual, with the young, barely-15-years-old-looking guys being downright flirtatious.  Seriously, if I need help finding it, I’ll ask.  You don’t need to wander aisle to aisle, wondering if I need assistance.  Go stock something.  Now.  Shoo.

Ran into Jerry, the employee with the mechanical larynx who’s had cancer.  He helped me find Bisquick.  You’d think since I go there every single week that I’d have no trouble finding stuff.  And for the most part, you’re right.  But, Target’s weird about Bisquick and I always forget where it is.

You’d expect Bisquick to be with the pancake mixes, right?  Because that’s where it is in Wal-Mart and Publix and Winn-Dixie.  At Target, the little bottles of mix and pour Bisquick (where you just add water, shake it up, and pour on the griddle), are with the pancake mix but that’s it- no actual boxes of Bisquick.  So you go to the flour section, thinking it might be there.  Nope.  Target keeps the boxes of Bisquick on the very bottom shelf, next to the muffin and cookie mixes, which are next to the cake and brownie mixes.

Anyway, Jerry asked me how I was feeling and told me that his church was still praying for me, and I said that was good since I still needed prayer.  He wished me good day and put his arm around my arm and gave me a little hug.  Sounds creepy, but it wasn’t at all.

At this point, I headed to the pharmacy section.  Hubby informed me last night to wash my hands a lot because he was feeling poorly and his lymph nodes were swollen. 

I responded by saying, “Sorry you feel bad, but I’m pretty sure your swollen lymph nodes aren’t cancer, (like mine were),  so you’ll probably live”.

“Well at least I have all of mine.”

“That’s not fair!  Besides- I still have 599 and they are working VERY HARD.  I don’t even miss that other one.”

I was also thinking to myself, “Ok, bud, I’ll wash my hands, but I still sleep with you and there is a 100% chance that you will breathe directly on me for most of the night.”

And when I woke up this morning, nose to nose with Hubby and feeling extra sniffly, (which is saying a lot since I go through about half a box of kleenex per day), I knew I definitely had to get some immunity boosting stuff before the fancy aeroplane trip.  I can’t stand Airborne- it’s just too nasty, but I got these immunity gummy bears for kids that are loads of vitamin c and zinc and echinacea and some vitamin c drops.  Here’s hoping they do the trick.

I continued shopping, heading towards frozen foods.  I’m flying to NC this Sunday, and I’m trying to make sure that Hubby has food to eat.  I know what you’re thinking- that he’s 26 and he made it 23 years without me and will be fine on his own for one week.  In response to that I say- yes, he does know how to feed himself, but if left to his own devices, he’ll subsist for the entire week on whole loaves of white bread, several bags of candy corn, and sweet tea.  I’d really rather that he had some of his teeth left when I make it back down to FL.

Trying to feed Hubby is like trying to feed a 6-foot-tall toddler, only without as much variety.  You know how guys that like plain, basic food are described as “meat and potatoes” guys?  Well, Hubby doesn’t even eat potatoes.  I think that should give you some indication of his eating habits.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining.  I love that he doesn’t expect a 3-course dinner from me every night.  I love that he can happily live off Pillsbury crescent rolls.  But, that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t need protein.

So, I stocked up on frozen beef ravioli and frozen chicken tenders and frozen cheese pizza and smoked turkey and roast beef deli meat.  It’s the “Field of Dreams” approach to home menu planning- if you have it, he will eat.  I’m also going to make a gallon of sweet tea before I leave and write out instructions for Hubby to make his own.  It’s not rocket science, (though, if it were, he’d have no problems since he actually understands rocket science), but he’s never done it before and there’s no telling what he might end up with.  Probably tea syrup.

As I was rounding the corner of one of the frozen foods aisles, there was a mother with 2 children coming towards me. One was a baby in the front of the buggy, and the other was a little girl about 5 or 6 years old, walking about 8 feet in front of the buggy.  When the little girl saw me her eyes got HUGE and she pointed at me with both hands.

“WOW, MOMMY!  LOOK!  DO YOU SEE THAT?!?  DO YOU SEE THAT LADY?!?  SHE HAS NO-”

At this point I was already past them and turned around just in time to see the mother pounce on her daughter and clamp both hands over her mouth.  The woman actually sprang vertically up into the air.  She was whispering furiously at the girl- you couldn’t make out what she was saying, but you could tell she was really mad because she was doing that “talking-between-clenched-teeth” thing that is so popular with mothers worldwide and that makes all words have a hissing sound.

The girl had been shouting so loudly that people from several aisles must have heard because quite a crowd had gathered to see what the heck was going on.  I was just happy I was able to make it to the next aisle before falling all over myself laughing.  It was just so hilarious to me for some reason.  It’s not often you see little kids practically slide tackled in public, and it was so darn funny.

Must add that to the list:  Reason 5, 396 Why I’m Not Having Children: they are wont to yell at strangers in the grocery store.

I somehow got over all the giggling and made it to the books section.  Except, it wasn’t the books section because they had moved the books, (they being the Target people), and put magazines in their place.  The CDs were scooted over some, too, and it looked like they had a lot more books, a larger variety, than I remember.  I’m guessing that they’re getting ready for the holidays, as most of the new books were nice, hardback ones. 

Anyway, I searched high and low for the Martha Stewart special edition Holiday Homemade Gifts magazine, but alas, it was not to be found.  These magazines are really hard to find, and I might actually have to venture to Wal-Mart to locate it, but I sincerely hope not.  So, I was searching for Martha when I saw this:

And simultaneously, the right side of my brain twittered, “ OOOOOOOOO, he’s awfully cute!” and the left side screeched, “ YOU PEDOPHILE- THAT’S HARRY POTTER!!!”

So I slunk away, averting my eyes and feeling slightly dirty and strange, drinking heavily from my hot chocolate and wondering, in this dire economic recession, how did my morals recess as well and where did they go?  I would have gone on feeling skeezy if I hadn’t run into the hallowed pink shag wig on the costumes aisle. 

It saved me from myself.

ps- I have since researched Daniel Radcliffe on IMDB.com and since he’s 19, it’s not pedophilia as such, but still odd to think that I thought he was cute because it means that mentally, I’m no better than the 12 and 13-year-olds who buy Tiger Beat. Oy.