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Feeling Mischievous
PRETTY IN PINK
I know I have mentioned before about the special
bond that my daughter shared with her Dad. Let me
reiterate that if ever there was a "Mutual Admiration
Society", it existed between them. Even as a baby,
she could wrap him around her little finger. Many a
night during her first and second year of life, he would
come home dead tired to a daughter that would not be
consoled with any less than a car ride. We had a little
Morris Minor automobile and he would put her in the
back seat and ride her around until she got sleepy ,
and crumpled into a heap in the back seat. He would
then carry her into the house and put her to bed. You
might say she was spoiled to it, and I often encouraged
him to let her cry, but he could not do it.
That was just one of the examples of their closeness
and each adored the other. He worked very hard ,
and often came home so tired that he would lie down
for a little while as I finished putting supper on the table.
Such was the case one time when she was about eight
years old. It always relaxed him to have his hair brushed
or combed, and he often asked her to do that so that
he could unwind from his tiring day. This day, he had
had a dirty job to perform, and when he came home,
his uniform was so soiled that he lay down on the hard
wood floor with a cushion under his head. He said, "Sis,
comb Daddy's hair for a few minutes before supper."
She sat down at his head and proceeded to brush his
hair. I went on to the kitchen and was busily preparing
our meal.
After about fifteen or twenty minutes, she went
through the kitchen and out the back door. I assumed
that her Dad had fallen asleep. A few minutes later, I
heard the toot of a horn from a car in the driveway and
I called out to him, "Someone is out there, see what
they want ." I heard the front door close as he went out.
In another few minutes, I heard him come back in , go
to the hall bathroom, and then I heard a terrible sound.
It was an agonizing moan, from the very depths of his
being. "Oh, no!" And repeated, "Oh, no!" I was
alarmed as he came in where I was and I saw his face.
He said, "Just look what she has done to me!" But ,
I had already seen the two, large, pink plastic hair
rollers that she had placed in his hair while he slept.
Apparently, he had not felt them there when he was
awakened suddenly by the horn on the car driven
by one of his friends and co-workers. He had gone
out , spoke several words to him, not even realizing
that his hair was in curlers. Now, my husband was
very macho, not in a mean way, but he prized his
manhood like many mountain men, and this was a
definite loss of face. I said, "Did your friend say
anything about your hair?" and he replied, "No,
but I thought he looked and acted funny, and was
in a hurry to leave." He groaned again and said,
"I bet he thinks I roll my hair every night! I don't
know if I can ever look him in the face again."
I was trying to conceal my mirth as I knew this
was serious to him, at least for the time being.
He removed the curlers, washed up and sat
down to eat when Sissy came back in. She
was blissfully unaware. She had just been
entertaining herself while she soothed him.
Was he mad? No, of course not at her. In
fact, they often laughed about it together in
later years. But I will never, ever forget the
groans I heard from that bathroom and the
sight of my macho husband in pink curlers.
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4/19/08 7:04 PM