In the event that you think, he is going to not be happy that she blogged this, I just want to say in advance that he told me I could tell the story.
Last weekend, JWS and some of his buddies went to the races.
I went once with him, I can't tell you how thankful I am that he has buddies to go with.
NHRA ranks right up there with gun raffles for me.
Well, maybe not that bad.
The food is better at the races.
This picture comes up in a text message.
I look at it.
My first thought?
Who is this old man sending me a picture of himself?
That is none other than JWS himself.
He is posed between two girls with abundant assets in Harley shirts.
When did he get that old?
Never mind all that cleavage that would explain the grin on this old man's face,
double take back,
he looks old!
Studying the picture, I realize that he has a hat on and he never wears hats.
The hats does not allow you to see the brown hair, only the gray beard.
How to approach this gently.
"Did you get the picture?"
I hem, I haw.
"How good did you look at that picture?"
"Did you happen to look at the person sandwiched between the cleavage?
Because that person looks like an old man!"
So much for gentle and tactful.
"Did you ever think of dyeing that beard?"
Shawnee stops at the shop.
I show her the picture.
I see the look on her face.
I ask her what her first thought was.
She hems, she haws.
I say go ahead say what you think, you normally do.
She says her first thought was,
"Who's the old man in the picture?"
Like mother, like daughter.
Jump forward to Tuesday night.
He brings home Just for Men.
That was the day I locked myself out at work.
That was not the end of the calamity and misfortune of the day.
But in the interest of protecting the innocent and not alienating customers,
we won't go there.
JWS needs help with the process,
He can't read the directions.
They are too small.
Anyone else seeing an age issue here?
I read the directions,
I mix the potion.
He brushes it into his beard.
One of his favorite sayings is,
If a little is good, a lot is better.
I had to explain that theory does not work with hair color,
you HAVE to follow directions.
He gets the color in, I set the timer for five minutes.
He walks across the bedroom like Frankenstein,
and ever so carefully lays down on the bed,
and folds his hands over his chest like a corpse to wait.
"Well, Hair Dye Princess, what do you do while you are coloring your hair?"
"Vacuum the whole house!"
Tick, Tick, Tick.
I am not allowed to leave.
I pick up my book and read.
I explain to him, let the shower rinse the color out, then shampoo.
I am not allowed to leave the bathroom.
"How often do I have to do this?"
"This is a lot of work"
You are preaching to the choir, mister!