My family thinks I've lost my mind. There have been quite a few "Lucy Ricardo" type schemes I have pulled in the past, but this one takes the cake. I would not be surprised if, at any minute, men in white coats come to take me away in a straight jacket; my latest scheme involves coffee.
Call it “pre-middle age anxiety”, but a short while ago, I decided I needed to make some drastic changes. I was in control of my life, but unhappy with my physical appearance; I wanted to look more youthful.
One morning, I gazed in the bathroom mirror and stuck my tongue out at my reflection. I wasn’t happy with what I saw. Tiny lines gathered around the outer corners of my eyes and lips when I smiled or squinted. My grandmother called these lines “the road map of life’s trials and tribulations”; my mother called them “character lines”. Hmph. I must be a real character, I speculated as I looked closer at the tiny nearly-invisible lines.
The only way to get rid of these pecky lines is Botox, and that was not an option. Isn’t that the stuff that hospitalizes you when you eat bad food? Not to mention the needle. I just love having needles rammed into my face. Yeah right, I thought. I ran my hand through my brunette tresses, and despite the dim lighting, I saw a faint shimmer of gold scattered throughout my hair. My highlights! That was the change I was looking for, but how could I accent them? I'm not a fan of costly chemicals that will fry my hair, so I tried to think of a natural way to achieve my goal. Lemons juice? Huh! After I have it on for a few days, I don’t want my head to smell like rotten citris, I thought. Then I remembered a book I had called Amazing Kicken Cures .
It was filled with home remedy suggestions for things such as jelly fish stings and sunburns; surely they would have something about hair highlighting. After a few minutes of searching in the book, I found what I was looking for. The book suggested I rinse my head with cold coffee to bring out the highlights in my hair. Wonderful! I’ll use the coffee from breakfast, I thought.
I washed my hair, then took the cold coffee to the bathroom. I was just pouring it over my head when my husband, *Giovanni, walked into the bathroom.
"Hey babe, where--" He stared at me in shock as I rubbed the coffee into my hair. "Um, I think you drink coffee in a cup, not through your head."
"I know. I'm highlighting my hair."
"O-Okay then," he said backing out of the bathroom and eyeing me suspiciously. I didn’t think about the smell until I snuggled against Giovanni on the couch later.
"I can't stand it anymore!" he yelped, getting off the couch and sitting in the rocker across the room. Am I that terrible to be around? I wondered.
"Hey, what's the big idea?" I demanded, nursing a bruised ego.
"It's your hair. It smells like coffee. I have the urge to pour creamer in your hair and sip on it." I knew Giovanni was joking, but I was not amused. I pulled a handful of hair from the side of head to my nose and took a big sniff. Ugh! I smelled like a walking java shop.
A few mornings later, Giovanni watched closely as I poured my coffee.
I’m not a morning person, and all his attention was grating on my nerves. “Is there something I can help you with?” I snapped.
"You are going to put that in a cup and not on your head aren't you?" I scowled and nodded. “Just making sure. . .’Coffee Head’!” Giovanni laughed and fled the kitchen before I could swat him with the rolled-up newspaper laying on the kitchen table.
Until my next crazy idea, I know “Coffee Head” will be my new name.
*name has been changed
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