Be Careful What You Wish For...
I can't tell you how many times I used to wish that I had thinner hair. I hated the way it would flare out at the sides and stick up on the top. People used to call me Alfalfa. Hairstylists groaned whenever they saw me approaching their station.
As I grew older, I started finding strands of black hair on the shower floor (and not the curly kind either). At first I figured it was because I was more observant than my younger days when I had an attention span equal to a gnat. But then I started noticing that my hair was becoming coarse like a horse's mane.
By the time I reached thirty I could see my scalp. That was when I did an about face and earnestly began wishing for my hair to return. Unfortunately it took a good twenty years for my initial wish to be granted. So now I find myself debating whether to try the newest hair growth tonic or pay a few thousand dollars for the Ken doll plugs.
During the same period that I was wishing my hair away, I was also suffering from skinny boy complex. No matter what I did I couldn't gain weight. And believe me I tried everything: fifty dollar bottles of Muscle Man, egg and peanut butter milk shakes, you name it I ate it. But I was a lost cause. And with my unruly hair I basically looked like a human dart.
That's when I started telling people how I wished that I could get really fat so I could lose weight because "losing weight was so much easier than gaining it." Boy did I regret that one. So at about the same time that my hair was committing follicle suicide, my gut was slowly creeping over my belt. At first I was happy: "Look," I would brag to my friends, "I can pinch something!"
Unfortunately the creeping belly turned into an all out Indy 500 and I started looking at myself in the mirror with utter horror. Now I practically kill myself every morning doing push ups and crunches just to stay reasonably slim. I miss the days when I could eat anything and not risk losing my belt buckle in a mass of blubber.
From now on, I promise to think before I wish. Like...I wish I would sell a short story to a magazine one of these days; I don't foresee any future trauma from that wish. And...I wish the jurors would acquit Michael Jackson. I mean...oops...
See what I mean.
As I grew older, I started finding strands of black hair on the shower floor (and not the curly kind either). At first I figured it was because I was more observant than my younger days when I had an attention span equal to a gnat. But then I started noticing that my hair was becoming coarse like a horse's mane.
By the time I reached thirty I could see my scalp. That was when I did an about face and earnestly began wishing for my hair to return. Unfortunately it took a good twenty years for my initial wish to be granted. So now I find myself debating whether to try the newest hair growth tonic or pay a few thousand dollars for the Ken doll plugs.
During the same period that I was wishing my hair away, I was also suffering from skinny boy complex. No matter what I did I couldn't gain weight. And believe me I tried everything: fifty dollar bottles of Muscle Man, egg and peanut butter milk shakes, you name it I ate it. But I was a lost cause. And with my unruly hair I basically looked like a human dart.
That's when I started telling people how I wished that I could get really fat so I could lose weight because "losing weight was so much easier than gaining it." Boy did I regret that one. So at about the same time that my hair was committing follicle suicide, my gut was slowly creeping over my belt. At first I was happy: "Look," I would brag to my friends, "I can pinch something!"
Unfortunately the creeping belly turned into an all out Indy 500 and I started looking at myself in the mirror with utter horror. Now I practically kill myself every morning doing push ups and crunches just to stay reasonably slim. I miss the days when I could eat anything and not risk losing my belt buckle in a mass of blubber.
From now on, I promise to think before I wish. Like...I wish I would sell a short story to a magazine one of these days; I don't foresee any future trauma from that wish. And...I wish the jurors would acquit Michael Jackson. I mean...oops...
See what I mean.
posted by Grant-Will-Rant at
7:24 PM
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