THE SONIC BOOMER
So here’s the thing — we women “of a certain age,” depending on our vanity level, sometimes choose to dye our hair, which I do, because evidently my vanity level is way up there.
But to do it myself (now more common during the pandemic), I have to take off my glasses. So, this last time, I discovered (once my glasses were back on), that I had dyed maybe one-eighth of an inch of my forehead along with my hair. And I scrubbed and I scrubbed, but I couldn’t get the dye off, probably because it was, well, hair dye!
“Oh, get over yourself,” I told myself firmly. “Just who do you think you are that people are going to be looking that closely at your forehead anyway?”
And I got over myself.
Then I got back to the business of conducting the estate sale I was working on.
I love doing estate sales, and I’m good at it. However, this time, tragedy struck when two metal bed rails slid down the wall at the sale and clunked me on the head. You know what your physiology doesn’t care for? Getting clunked on the head! And it will show you how important it is to protect your head from now on by sending pulsating jets of blood all over the place.
So, I scared myself. I left a bloody trail over to the bench where I sat down. I couldn’t see out of my glasses for all the blood. There was blood on my face, on my arms and on all the paper towels my staff was using to stem the tide. The homeowner (no doubt fearing a lawsuit), rushed out with ice and towels. Customers were horrified.
But I have a manager I trust implicitly, so, when she looked at it, I trusted her word. “You have a one-inch dent,” she said.
Dent? Not good. One inch? Better than I had been expecting.
The consensus of everyone but me was that I go to the hospital for stitches.
I thought a butterfly bandage would do it. So, an hour later when the sale wrapped up, I pulled into the drugstore on the way home and asked the pharmacist to look at my head. He was so excited to be treated like a doctor that he actually came out into the store to gaze at me, asked if I had a headache (no) and then said I could get away with anti-bacterial cream.
“But I don’t know what to do about a bandage,” he mused, looking over the store’s inventory. “Because a butterfly bandage will stick to your hair.”
I suggested a cotton ball and some of that green painters’ tape “for sensitive surfaces.” He was fine with that.
So here I sit with a big green X and a cotton ball taped to my head.
And do you know what the moral of this story is? Yes. Go to the salon to get your hair dyed because everybody is going to look at your forehead!
