It was scary hair time again and so, since today was a holiday, we went to see Michael-The-Extremely-Gay-Hairdresser. His hairstyle suggestions for SoS were severely limited as SoS had, once again, taken it upon himself to modify his coif. He wasn't clear to the scalp, as he has been known to do, so that was a relief. However, he also took the scissors to his eyebrows. Seriously, what is wrong with this kid? He was upset to find that he couldn't get "just a trim" like he wanted since he had cut the front so short. Perhaps now he will leave his hair to the professionals. FB got his usual barely-enough-trim-to-even-see-that-we-cut-it cut and Michael changed my color to a nice fall/winter brunette. Which is good, because my poor hair was begging on it's knees and promising all manner of craziness to not be bleached again. My mother, of course, hates it.
I like it.
FB came to me last night and said "Mom, I've got this bump and it's purple." Do you know what fear that strikes in the heart of a mother? When your teenager (or close enough) comes to you talking about bumps?? With the trepidation I imagine I would feel before sneaking up on a rabid tiger and poking it in the ass with a sharp stick, I asked, "Um, where is this bump?" He said it was on the bottom of his stomach and pulled the waistband of his underwear down to the top of his hairline to show me the biggest, angriest ingrown hair I have ever seen. "Good grief! How long has that been there?" He had no idea. "Doesn't it hurt?" Yes, yes it did. So I got a straight pin, doused both it and the site with rubbing alcohol, and proceeded to lance this sucker. At first I just poked it with the needle to see what would happen and then applied just the slightest pressure. It was evacuated easily, but the whole time I just kept thinking, "Don't be MRSA, don't be MRSA, I really can't handle MRSA." I'm pretty sure we're okay on that count as the ingrown hair came out with evacuation. Although, I must admit, I always thought if this situation ever happened that FB would be old enough to deal with it himself. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be happening where I had to take care of it. But since when has that kid ever done anything on the accepted timeline:?
I like it.
FB came to me last night and said "Mom, I've got this bump and it's purple." Do you know what fear that strikes in the heart of a mother? When your teenager (or close enough) comes to you talking about bumps?? With the trepidation I imagine I would feel before sneaking up on a rabid tiger and poking it in the ass with a sharp stick, I asked, "Um, where is this bump?" He said it was on the bottom of his stomach and pulled the waistband of his underwear down to the top of his hairline to show me the biggest, angriest ingrown hair I have ever seen. "Good grief! How long has that been there?" He had no idea. "Doesn't it hurt?" Yes, yes it did. So I got a straight pin, doused both it and the site with rubbing alcohol, and proceeded to lance this sucker. At first I just poked it with the needle to see what would happen and then applied just the slightest pressure. It was evacuated easily, but the whole time I just kept thinking, "Don't be MRSA, don't be MRSA, I really can't handle MRSA." I'm pretty sure we're okay on that count as the ingrown hair came out with evacuation. Although, I must admit, I always thought if this situation ever happened that FB would be old enough to deal with it himself. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would be happening where I had to take care of it. But since when has that kid ever done anything on the accepted timeline:?
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