When it comes to women, I am easily confused. My three daughters were at the table when I entered the kitchen one morning. I said, “Good morning, girls.” The chirpy, cheerful preteen said, “Good morning, Daddy.” The fifteen year old slowly turned her head around like Linda Blair in the Exorcist, just glaring at me. I looked over at the 17 year old who had a pouty look on her face, who then started crying and burst into tears. All I said was, “Good morning, girls.” I understand that this happens, but I still don’t get it.
Parents usually ruin their first child. The fact that Susan survived her parent’s controlling what didn’t need control and leaving some of the important stuff on autopilot, is a testament to her character. That didn’t make her any more understandable than her sisters. Her preparations for school proms were epic. She would start at noon for a 7 p.m. date. Layer after layer of makeup were painstakingly applied. Her custom hairdo was usually done by someone who came to the house to help install all of the glittering hairdo hardware. The several hundred dollar, worn-only-once dress was fit and refit and steamed. It must have worked. On one date preceded by over-preparation, she wore a leather mini-skirt, a metallic gold top and matching big bow — really cute. Greg must have liked it. He later married her. She was in high school and he was in college. He had been a state champion quarterback twice and was a college baseball star. When he returned from a church mission to Venezuela, he proposed marriage. When I complained to my father that Susan was awfully young and seemed ill-prepared for marriage, he gave me his classic advice about children. He said, “Roger, when the love train comes to town, you can either get on board or just watch the train go on down the tracks.” A few years later, Susan and Greg came home from BYU, after finals. They were exhausted from papers, stress, and late night study. Susan was wearing sweats and a T-shirt and there was absolutely no makeup. She was so pale that she looked like one of the victims in a vampire movie. The next day she was rested, but looked the same way. I tried to joke with her a little to cheer her up and said, “Susan, maybe you could put on some lipstick and a little warpaint so you would look, you know — alive.” She was not amused and turned her head sideways, looked up at me through half closed eyes, and said through her pouty little lips, “Greg doesn’t like makeup.”
When women travel more miles down the road, the process of covering and restoring changing skin and hair becomes more significant. Isolation and social distancing was fine — not going to the hair dresser for weeks was not. While Mary Kay would not let me apply the Permithian sheep dip, she did order some official beauty supply stuff. Her wonderful sister and brother-in-law, Diana and Byron, actually gave us an online tutorial of how to mix and apply the hair coloring. Byron has become really good at this and has gone where lesser man dare not go, blazing a trail of hair-care courage. After watching the live demonstration, Mary Kay lost her confidence in my ability to match Byron’s hairdo skills. Mostly she was afraid of what she would do to me if the results were less than perfect. She figured that she could wait another week, but when that stretched into three weeks and the hair salons were still closed, she became desperate. Her mental status was altered. She went from being someone who would “never think” of breaking the law into being someone who “did not want to be caught” breaking the law. The fear of a growing skunk stripe overcame her fear of dying from a virus. She joined the ranks of thousands of other women who met in secret with their hair stylists for redemption. To keep from being detected, she, like many others took measures to disguise her identity. It was late evening and I still don’t know why she wore an Olive Garden bag over her head, when she went into an undisclosed location for an underground hairdo. By the way, if I am ever interrogated, this never happened. Several hours later she came out in the dark and without the bag. She was a new woman — calm, confident, smiling and happy. It was worth every penny, but I still do not understand women.
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