FANCY THAT FANCY THIS

It was approximately 1,000 degrees on Sunday.

And since the thought of plugging in a blow dryer actually made me nauseous, I decided NOT to to straighten my hair.

I knew this was a mistake as my hair air dried and I watched it grow Chia Pet style.

Friday night…when my hair was calm.

I also decided it was too hot to put on my contact lenses. (I realize this makes no sense, but logic and reason are usually the first to go for me during Ramadan.)

I knew this was a mistake when I looked in the mirror and saw flashbacks of my dreaded high school years.

And yet I idiotically still decided to leave the house. Mostly because it was Ramadan and I had to kill about 12 hours.

Even worse? I decided to go shopping. (Again, mostly because it was Ramadan and I had to kill about 12 hours.)

Cupcake baking / decorating on Saturday…when my hair was still in a good place.

This was also a mistake because I felt hideous, and nobody should go shopping when they feel hideous.

So I quickly pulled the plug on that expedition and instead wandered around trying to figure out what to do with me and my puffy hair.

Ultimately I ended up at the library. The beautiful library where people didn’t look twice at me, my hair, my glasses, or my Lululemon pants.

I have no plans to scare you with pictures of Sunday, when my hair was HUGE, so instead I will scare you with pictures of Maya’s apron, which after baking and decorating 9 cupcakes looked like a crime scene.

So I suppose it all boils down to this:

I shouldn’t avoid hot tools. Or my contact lenses.

But when I stupidly decide to do it again – because my laziness often takes precedence over my appearance – I should just head straight to the library.

Two posts in two days?

I know. It’s far too much sarcasm for one week. But I couldn’t let today go by without mentioning it’s our 16th wedding anniversary.

(Don’t worry, I’ll keep it short and in bullet form.)

A recycled picture of a picture. This was before the digital age.

Some thoughts:

• It’s hard to believe that 16 years ago today we thought we were old enough to get married.
• I still wish I hadn’t spent a small fortune on a dress that didn’t fit me very well, and that I’m never going to wear again.

Outside of the Regent Beverly Wilshire, where we were married.

• Ali left his socks on the floor everyday of our honeymoon. He left his socks on the floor last night. He will never stop leaving his socks on the floor. I have yet to come to terms with that.
• I have also not come to terms with the word husband, which still sounds strange to me. (I won’t even get started on the strangeness of the word daughter…)

I asked my husband if he had any thoughts for the blog on it being our 16th anniversary: “It’s our Sweet Sixteen,” he said before he walked out the door without a goodbye.

And that about sums it up.

I took Maya shopping on Sunday.

She hates to shop. I hate to shop. So why go?

Because:

1. Maya had a violin recital this week, for which she needed black shoes and a white shirt. (Even I, who couldn’t care less what Maya wears for the most part, was embarrassed that she sported her purple Nike’s at the last violin recital.)
2. Much of Maya’s every day wardrobe has seen better days.
3. I’m tired of Ali’s incessant comments about the holes in Maya’s clothes.
4. It was raining and I figured what better way to pass the afternoon?

Maya’s purple shoes are so bright that I’m sure they’re visible from outer space.

As we traipsed around the city looking for clothes a few things occurred to me:

Maya doesn’t like anything with flowers on it.

I don’t like anything that isn’t predominantly navy or black.

Maya doesn’t like anything I like.

I don’t like anything she likes.

Maya’s clothes are often the same price as my clothes.

We both need a personal shopper.

In Bryant Park, a few days before my husband decided to escape to the UK, leaving me to deal with Maya’s wardrobe issues.

After many tense hours all we managed to agree on was a pair of black shoes and 3 cardigan sweaters. (Helpful for the upcoming summer months, I know).

Maya’s violin recital was yesterday. And while her new shoes looked fabulous, and she played really well, all I noticed was the glaring hole in the knee of her black pants.

S@#$. And @%@^.