Old Navy, New Rage

Whoever designed the clasp on this Old Navy dress did NOT have people with hair in mind. Which is odd when you consider the majority of potential buyers fit that very description.

In fact, I lost a few chunks of hair throughout the day before getting it stuck so badly, I couldn’t move my neck. I was walking to my car at the time and had my keys in my hand when I tried freeing my hair from the clasp’s iron grasp.

So naturally my keychain ALSO got stuck, which means I’m in a public space with my keys stuck in my hair AND my hair so stuck in the clasp that I can’t straighten my neck. Mind you, this is a Toy Story keychain, so I’m walking around with Forky AND my keys in my hair.

(I kept my hand on the keys and just pretended I actually wanted them there BECAUSE PEOPLE WERE STARING.)

So I unlock my door by clicking the remote entry button ON MY HEAD, get in, sit down and somehow manage to free the keychain. But my hair is still caught in the clasp. 

I’m contorting as much as I can despite the pain and finally work it loose. I drive home, talk to neighbors, walk inside and put on a sweater (it’s 85F) to cover the clasp and prevent another incident.

I soon discover WITH HORROR that my contorting caused the zipper to be knocked off track, which led to the two sides separating. This, as you have likely sorted out, resulted in A GIANT GAPING HOLE along my backside.

(I’m not sure when it first appeared, but I suspect it was there in time for a few dozen people to see.) 

Next I’m trying to remove the dress, but I can’t because the zipper is stuck at the top. I do what I can for a few minutes before finally confronting the inevitable: I was going to have to go full-on HULK.

There’s no video evidence to prove it, but I’m pretty sure I roared as I reached behind my back, grabbed the top of my dress on both sides AND RIPPED IT IN TWO.

(If you’re wondering what material this dress is made out of, you’ll just have to trust me when I say it’s as close as you can get to carbon steel while still having pliability.)

So now my dress is in the trash along with my ego. All a long way of asking: anyone out there have some Super Cash burning a hole in their pocket? I know a girl who could use it, and she cannot afford the luxury of a lesson learned.

How a talking fork helped me become reacquainted with my past life

Our homemade version of Toy Story 4’s “Forky.”

Parenting is a solitary gig, even when done in pairs. You see friends and family less and less, and things you once did eagerly, and regularly, become a distant memory. That’s not to say it’s all a bum racket, but it isn’t exactly for the faint of heart, either (particularly when family, aka free babysitting, is 160-2300 miles away).

But it is what it is, and you do your best, keeping an eye on the clock—and so inadvertently rushing time—just waiting for the day when your kid can accompany you on various adventures. At age two, everyone says it’s OK to take your kid to an age-appropriate movie (oh, the cinema! Remember that?). But at age two, your particular mini-me shies away from crowds and cries at loud sounds, and the movie theater is, sadly, a combination of her two biggest breakdown triggers. So you sigh from the sidelines as children’s movies come and go, and you stay in. And in. And in.

(The vague recollection of you going to the movies 2-3 times a month pre-child feeling more and more like a different life entirely.)

But your child is growing, and though the triggers have remained the same, they are increasingly less so, and so one day – after you’ve gently mentioned how much fun it would be, little by little for weeks – she agrees that yes, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

So you call a buddy, pack headphones into your bag, say a hail Mary (never mind you aren’t Catholic; you need all the help you can get) and head to the theater.

You hand her the headphones while you’re still out on the sidewalk; you make a game out of the escalator ride up; you buy her absolute most-favorite treat; and you head into your theater just as the movie is about to start (because you know better than to risk sitting through 13-minutes of previews).

When she opens her mouth to speak, the words that come out are precisely what you’d feared: “I want to go home.”

Sure, you expected that, but your heart falls to your feet all the same. But you’re not going to go down without a fight, so you pick her up and give her a hug. “It will be OK. Let’s just try it for a minute. If you don’t like it or it’s too loud, we’ll leave.”

You don’t expect her to agree, but she surprises you. These little humans are funny like that.

“OK,” she says. “Let’s try it.”

And that was that. For the next 90 minutes, she sits perfectly still, shifting only a little just to get more comfortable. She doesn’t make a peep except to laugh or say “thank you” when you hand her a treat.

As you walk out of the theater, you sense a strange feeling. It takes a second or two before you’re able to define it. Could it be? Is this really?

…happy…

So much has happened, so much has gone wrong, you’d almost forgotten what it was like. You can feel the moment etching into the folds of your brain, a veritable oasis after walking through four years of desert.

When you take a moment to reflect, you can’t decide if this is the absolute best children’s movie ever—or if what you’re feeling is really just the joy that comes with being re-acquainted with the theater. With your old friend.

Oh, how I’ve missed you.

When you’re in the bathroom for a post-movie potty break, the reality of the day hits you.

You can start going to the movies again.

You feel a weight lift as you welcome in a small bit of freedom. Your mind briefly turns to the rest of the day as you realize just how many tasks lay ahead. Your daughter’s little voice brings you back to the room as she finishes washing her hands.

“Can we make a Forky after my nap?” she squeaks.

You don’t even pause to think. The day has written itself.

“Absolutely.”