Right in the middle of her forehead.
And when she was good, she was very, very good.
And when she was bad she was horrid.
(First of all, to my dear husband: Yes, another post with another goofy picture of me. Sorry, my dear. I promise to go back to posting goofy pictures of you, soon.)
Getting ready this morning, I had one of those pesky curls. Right in the middle of my forehead. And no matter what I tried, it really, really didn't want to go away. And it definitely didn't want to be straight.
And as I fought with that chunk of hair, scalding the heck out of it with my flat iron, I thought back to that little rhyme that I often heard as a kid. (Which is funny, because, I had stick straight hair until I turned 12, and then went to Hawaii and came back with a peeling, sunburned nose and a mop of curly hair. One of the strangest souvenirs I ever picked up. But I digress.)
Made me wonder what kind of a day it was going to be. Good girl day or really, really horrid girl day? (If you asked Caleb last night, he would have told you the latter, when I was the kid-ordained "Meanest Mom in the World").
Was I going to be hero or villian?
Was I going to walk the walk or challenge the norms?
But as I thought about it, I realized that I tend to be the good girl almost all of the time. Be the hero. Play nice. Find the solution. Collaborate. Talk it out. Let people merge in traffic. Say please and thank you. Do what I say I am going to do. Show up. On time. Be a good girl.
Made me think of that bumper sticker that says something like "Nice women rarely make history."
Man, I am kind of boring.
Maybe I should try to be horrid one of these days.
But can't you be nice and make history? I sure would like to try.
But then again, maybe I am overthinking it.
Maybe it just meant it was going to be a bad hair day.
