It Doesn’t Wash

As my 15-year-old daughter would say, “Dad, back in the olden days …” I had my fair share of dates. In all that time I never heard the classic, “I can’t go out tonight, I have to wash my hair.”

I never realized how important that task really is for women. It took nearly 25 years of marriage for me to finally understand that on a scale of one to 10, for my wife washing her hair rates infinity. Granted she doesn’t do this every day, as I understand it’s not good for the tresses, but she will wash her hair once every two days like clockwork.

This is always done in the morning before she gets our daughter ready for school. That means she rises at about 4:30 to start a process that can run up to 90 minutes long. It’s also a process that once it starts, nothing can interrupt it for to do so would mean instant verbal “death” for the person bothering her.

I figured out that getting her hair from wet to dry and set is the most crucial aspect of the ritual. Anything that distracts her from that can mean a bad hair day, and in the Nagasawa house, that is the kiss of death.

The other morning we were both running behind schedule. I had an important morning business meeting so I was scrambling to get out the door. Although already late, my wife washed her hair, thereby committing herself to complete the entire process. From our vanity area, she commanded, “Ron, you need to drop our daughter off at the bus stop this morning.”

I rolled my eyes and cursed under my breath. She continued, “And you need to stop at the store and buy Buddy some dog food.” Even if I told her I was meeting President Obama, that wouldn’t be a good enough excuse to interrupt the drying of her hair. Still, I made the mistake of trying to get out of it, “Honey, I have an important meeting I need to get to.”

She merely stared into my reflection in the mirror and telepathically told me to get my okole going. Man, I sure hope North Korea doesn’t learn how to harness that kind of destructive power.