DAY 27 (Read Day 1 “OK, Honey. Challenge Accepted!” Post)
Alarm sounds, eyes pop open, a kick with the right foot and sheets uncover all of me. Legs lift and carry me to the bathroom containing baby soaps, baby shampoos and bleached white towels. First of four women to take the shower, with embarrassment I confess, the last to walk out the door.
On a typical day, snooze button would be fumbled for with no attempt to lift eyes lids for clarity. Not this day! When your in your “happy place,” sleeping, eating and general necessities become nuisances. All but one that is.
Product applied, hair dryer poised, I proceed with step one of style maneuvers. I raise my arm and take calculated aim at the rats that frizz and fray my hair.
No longer damp, my fingers still struggle to glide through the coarse texture that has consumed my head. Curl or straighten must be decided for phase two to begin because “as is” does not exist as a viable option for a 40 something year old woman with minor vanity issues.
The outlet receives the plug end of my straightening iron but connection is evaded. Heart pounding, I press the reset button. No red glow indicating relief from the natural curse of my matted mane.
“No, no, no!” The girls look concerned as I move to another outlet. Still no current to heat my salvation.
“It’s dead,” I exclaim with disappointment that provoked minuscule amounts of sympathy from my “throw your hair in a pony tail, easy going, vanity non-existent travel companions.”
One, two, okay, 5 hair alternative attempts later, I confess my disdain at the thought of appearing in public like this. Now awaiting my resolution to my appearance dilemma I am offered the “straightening iron” of “hair looks good no matter what I do” friend.
In my hand, I hold what appears to be an ancient hair tool should they have existed in ancient days. It’s either this antique or I pull out the ironing board and iron stored behind the mirrored door and spread my fuzzy hair on it.
Passing of 60 minutes, they graciously await my vanity induced attack as I attempt presentable appearance. I settle on “gonna have to be good enough” and we exit the room to begin our Disney day adventure.
Good thing one of the first rides is jaunt on a log that flows with the river ending with a long plunge to a pool that the first 2 days we rode produced nothing more than a cooling mist. On the contrary, this time a drenching experience returns my “acceptable for now” hair status to a “oh crap, I can’t go around looking like this” demeanor all in a matter of 10 seconds.I laughed then as I still do, at being the subject of snickering and bursts of laughter, knowing that as a Christ follower, God, Himself is even snickering at my pride now soggy and sopping wet.
If only it ended there. Determined not to go through this again the next day, I made the 3/4 mile walk to the hotel in order to take a field trip to the nearest Target to purchase a new iron. At the suggestion of one of my travel companions, once at the hotel I plugged in my iron to confirm death and miraculously it had been resuscitated. I forego the trip, return my matted mane to a smooth and silky style and rejoin by Disney partners.
Upon returning to the park, we had “preferred viewing” for the spectacular World of Color show where a sign boldly states, “you will get wet.” I falsely assume that it’ll be “just a mist” proved wrong by the pounding of falling water sprayed by what felt like a fire hose.
At this point all you can do is laugh and feel the love of my 3 dear friends who with each pouring shower burst would cover me like an umbrella.
Laughing all the way back to the hotel at the ridiculousness of it all and shamefully I admit my need to work on my obsession with appearance, I am thankful I need not have a repeat of the traumatic morning.
Next am, same alarm, same routine before venturing out for another day in the park. I plug in my revived iron and…”seriously? It’s dead.”
This was worse than a 2×4.