I bought the 1983’s thriller Christine version of a curling iron. I have burnt my shoulder, ears, cheeks, forehead, breasts and belly. You read right….belly. Doesn’t matter that said belly is 2 feet from any hair long enough to curl….I have burned it. I have also been known to burn my belly on a cookie sheet , hot out of the oven. What can I say? I have a thing for being topless when something hot is around. Now that you think of it….this does shed some light on my past dating life. Hmmmm Let’s continue with the original culprit…the curling iron.
Since I have done this more than a dozen times, the lecture from Hubz gets longer and longer each time. First it is…Oh my sweet! Does it hurt? Do you need me to get you to a hospital for proper dressing? Then right into the hilarity of the number of times we have had this same conversation. In between those two points is the decision of whether it is going to leave a scar, like the others and a recap of where the others came from. I have tried to cover them with hair and nightgowns, but they are eventually spotted so it is just better to face the music and get over it.
This was no different, in an attempt to straighten my hair while still softly curling the tips, I pulled a little too tight. When it reached the end of the hair, it SSSST (that is the sound of hot flesh on a 1” diameter Conair ) touched to titty. NO NO NO NO I said. Not again. Grabbed a cold towel, got an ice cube and even some Neosporin. I would have used peanut bitter or bacon grease, if you would have told me it might work. NOTHING is worse the shit I was going to get. Couldn’t escape…he saw it. I heard about it. We moved on.
Skip ahead 3 days to my birthday. I made plans over a month ago to spend the day at an all women’s, clothing not an option wellness spa. On the day of your birthday it is 50% off the admission, so for $27, I was going to enjoy steam rooms, saunas, float pods, whirlpools for as long as my raisening fingers and toes could stand. Woke up, had some coffee, nailed a phone interview and called the spa to double check the birthday discount and any time restrictions. At the end of the call, they gave their standard disclaimer schpeel:
Discount only good on the day of your birthday
All guests must be 18 years or older.
No garments, menstruating women or open wounds are allowed in any of the pools
Shit! The tell will have been my inability to get naked without doing the pledge of allegiance.
Hubz came home with a flat iron. I tried to tell him that it had nothing to do with the product…it was user error. He agreed but thought it would be easier to start with a tool that wasn’t so thirsty for blood.