My sister, who was sitting directly in front of me, grabbed her throat and screamed, “I can’t breathe!” She rolled the window down, and in the blink of an eye, my hair, still damp with the spray, blew straight off of my forehead, instantly freezing into place.I attempted to pick it out, but Stiff Stuff is like super glue for hair. The pick was stuck.I sat in the backseat, arms crossed and hair standing like the waves of an ocean frozen into place, the handle of the pick a mighty surfer. Just like Babel, my hair was a total wipe-out.
Once the shock wore off, I was angry. My sister was such a brat. It was still the ‘80s. It would not have killed her to breathe in a few fluorocarbons.
In spite of my angry glares, the family could not contain their laughter. I saw the smirk in my dad’s eyes when, for the tenth time, he looked in the rearview mirror and consoled, “Someday you will look back on this and laugh.”Note to dad: It took 27 years.
While hubby and I are traveling, a thought occurs to me. We are probably deep enough into the Bible belt that we could take the kids to a nice little church in the mountains for an interesting and educational experience. Quaker churches don’t have baptistries, and I think it’s high time my kids learned how to swim.
Ginger is an author, speaker and mother of five. Find her on Facebook (Ginger Truitt-Author) and Twitter (@GingerTruitt), or contact her at email@example.com.