We were scurrying around our Midwest home packing for a trip down south. In preparation, I was completing necessary office work fervently, pens stuck behind my ears and pencils hanging out of my mouth. I was the look of efficiency.
Mid-afternoon and 30 minutes out of having to leave for the airport, I looked down at my right hand. Upon first glance, I let out a horrifying groan.....it appeared to be bright red BLOOD! I'm dying right before my eyes!!! I took hold of my nerves and peeked again at the gruesome hand. Awww shucks, it was only red ink!! Silly me for panicking and jumping to conclusions. I noticed the ink also was on the knee of my blue jeans. Where in the world did this come from??? Then I remembered my valiant work on bill payments, and I remembered using a red ink pen. Upon examination, the pen, lying on the lamp table by the recliner, was losing blood fast and in critical condition. There was no chance of resuscitation, so I carried the pen to the wastebasket, said a few kind words about the life the pen had led, and tossed him into the can.
Within a few hours we were boarding a 757 in Atlanta, Georgia. We were in the back, as in LAST, row. 248 people were going to keep us hostage before we could deplane. Bummer. As I was sitting in that last seat, I took in a deep breath and tried to relax after all the turmoil of preparing to get off. When I am tense, I twirl my hair. Guess what? I twirled my hair on the right back side of my head. As I moved my hair, all of a sudden, it felt clumpy, snarly, and stiff. I tried to pull the hairs to smooth it and, looking down at my hand, again I was once again playing the mangled, bloody hand bit part of this crazy play! Because the stinky bathroom was one giant step away from my seat, I jumped up and went into it, closed the door, and looked at myself in horror!!! The collar on my white blouse had magically changed color to RED! The realization that what was infiltrated in and through all the back quarter of my head was RED INK brought a myriad of emotions. Anger because I had ruined a good and expensive blouse from Von Maur's and hysterical laughter because I had been parading through the Atlanta International Airport with this glob of red ink on the back of my head.
Before we took off, I feverishly tried taking out all the airplane's towels and attempted to blot out all the ink. NO DEAL. Water didn't work. I decided it was not fair to all the 248 passengers to take all their towels, so I went back into my seat and tried combing it out. Within a half-hour, I could at least comb through it. But, let me tell you, red was all over my pants, my hands, and the back of my head.
Ending of the story? Well, yours truly looks like a punk rocker. Yes, I used alcohol but that didn't even take it all out. I have bright pink punk rocker hair. My grandkids think I'm the coolest grandma in town. I even had a lady at the hospital stop me and tell me how much she liked my hair. She thought I had dyed it for "Breast Cancer Awareness" month!! Several younger girls said, "I really like your hair!!!" NOW THAT, GRANDMAS, IS POISE, SOPHISTICATION, AND CLASS!!!
Too funny! The accidental hipster!
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