Saturday, June 23, 2007
My "Intuition" Said, "If Big Mama is Wrong About This, I May Never Live to Write Another Post"
You can learn so much on the World Wide Web of Womanly Wisdom. You can copy people who are way cooler than you. Or, you can make mental notes that say, "File this away--never admit [fill in the blank] on your [my] blog." But mostly I just watch and learn like an eight year-old snot-nosed kid gawking at her glamorous 18 year-old sister getting ready for the prom.
Except in reality, it's more like I'm an 18 year-old nerd watching her cooler younger sisters do fun, amazing things, like take road trips, go to Qatar, eat at a fancy schmancy restaurant or do radio interviews of interesting people or host awesome parties. What do I do? I post pictures of my dog in a t-shirt. (Wow, that is really Sad.) But I do learn from you all [correction: y'all].
For example, when my eldest daughter burst into a room one day nearly rabid with razor burn madness, I was taken aback. I have always used a regular old disposable razor on legs that have been prepped by Dove soap only. Getting a fancy razor to me means buying pink plastic instead of a guy color. But my daughter's demeanor was frightening--like King Saul's reaction after David kept repeating "Smoke on the Water" on the harp or lyre or whatever, which prompted Saul to fire a spear at David's head. My daughter was crazed like that--about ready to slash curtains and leather couches with a bad razor. I had to do something. My mind was racing.
And then, I remembered WWBMD:"What Would Big Mama Do?" [See Here is the blog of someone who takes road trips and knows pracitcal things.]
I remembered that a few weeks ago, Big Mama posted about the best razor in the world, and as I sat there in a panic, cowering from my daughter's boiling-over rampage, I knew I had to find the name of that razor. If Big Mama says it works; I believe it. If WalMart had it, I had the faith to buy it. I staved off my daughter's wrath with the promise of a sure-thing (gulp) as I searched through her blog for the name of that razor.
And so we bought one: The "Intuition." Remember that name.
The next day, my daughter, whom I'll call "Kay-boom," came marching into the family room like General Patton toward a ... microphone.
"This is the BEST RAZOR IN THE WORLD!" she announced! She said a lot more, but I was so relieved that for now we were all safe from the fury, I couldn't process it all.
"Feel my legs! They're so smooth! There are NO cuts! This is the BEST RAZOR IN THE WORLD! BLAH-BLAH BLAH-BLAH SHRIEK BLAH LAUGH BLAH!"
And all I could do was just marvel at how a woman I've never met in person but only admired from afar touched our lives and saved the veritable skin on my daughter's hyde (yes, that is a play on the word "hide" as in skin, and "Hyde" as in "Dr. Jekyll and Mr.") and the leather on my sofas and hair on my dog.
And stories like that, Girlfriends, should make us all take a moment of silence to thank Al Gore for ever inventing the Internets. May he follow his "Intuition."