Monday, December 3, 2012

My Weave

I was unpacking Christmas decorations tonight, and things were getting a little bit...weird.

I'm pretty sure at the end of the Season last year (some time around February), I was doing a take-the-Christmas-decorations-down-and-clean-up-random-crap mixed event. And a lot of that random crap wound up wrapped around my garland and lights. It might have been on purpose (extra padding for the breakable stuff?), or just my version of leaving your cell phone in the fridge. I have no memory of it happening.

Whatever the reason, I keep finding little unexpected gifts from last years pregnant version of me.

Items found shoved inside my Christmas boxes (so far):

A single orange curtain.
An unsigned thank you card.
A pair of brown Old Navy flip flops.
Three blue sponges (these appear to be unused).
Fuzzy socks.
An empty snack size Frito's bag. (This one worries me- the last time I ate a Frito was back in 2003).

My weave.

When I reached into the box, at first I thought it was a rat. After screaming and jumping in a circle for a while, I realized that nothing inside was moving, and I hadn't been bit. So either it was a dead rat (and I'm dying of the plague), or I had just found my SPAC braid. YES. 

I ran into the bathroom, and emerged 3 minutes later looking about a million times more Pittsburgh-chic.


Syndil was pretty excited about it.

Kurt...was not.

"This is happening." I announced.

He looked up in surprise, and his eyes widened in horror.

"I....can't even look at you right now."

And he walked away.

Probably because we have guests coming over, and he wanted to jump me. It is that attractive.

I smiled, and tried to run my fingers through the strands, but they got stuck. I haven't actually brushed it in 5 years. (which just adds to the Pittsburgh flavor, amiright?)

Where did it come from? Back when I was a folk dancer at BYU, my touring team had to braid these into our hair every day. And they were pretty gross back then. Also, heavy. 

I may just make this a regular part of my wardrobe. 

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