For the man looking for that drama-free girl for a lifetime of love or dinner and a squelch – you may as well be looking for a germ at a Lysol convention.
You’ll find a girl with a pretty little welcome mat, who you believe suits your needs perfectly. Tattooed like a banner across her chest, is the following warning:
DANGER. EXPLOSIVE CONTENTS. FLAMMABLE UNDER PRESSURE. HANDLE WITH CARE.
Regrettably, the warning isn’t referring to her dairy section.
We’ve got drama on speed dial. One call and spontaneous combustion will take out your mental orientation to time and space. Your best bet is to roll over and play dead. You’ll snag a sweet, sexy, drama-free girl the same day you win the lotto. When you hit the numbers I’ll date you without a hint of Broadway.
Until then you could have-a-go with Sheila246 on Match.com. She might be drama-free but thats only because she gave up her personality when she a full-time knitter. No one cares about your damn hates, Sheila.
Unless you want to knit your nights away, you’ve 3 options:
- Die alone.
- Hand the crown over to me (or another drama queen.)
- Date a straight man. .
FYI this happens to be the crown I’ve been waiting for: Tammy’s Crown
Embarrassing drama is standard operating procedure around here. I won’t bother going into my nitty-gritty details because I don’t want to ruin the surprise in the off-chance you win the lottery. I’m not like one of the Kardashians or anything, but I am producing several instructional videos.
I looked up drama and Merriam-Webster defines it as “an excessively emotional response.” I had one of these once when my hair dryer got too hot and burnt the hell out of my hair.
BTW, hair burning is A TSUNAMI of drama for EVERY girl in the UNIVERSE so don’t give me some shit about how I’m so dramatic. It is a Fucking First World Problem.
After the firemen, neighbors and mental health crisis counselor left, it took me 2 hours to make my hair look somewhat like … hair. Mostly I just stared at myself in the mirror and cried until the shock wore off. Sort of like I did when I cut my bangs down to the roots.
The back of my head was still smouldering so I tossed in a few handfuls of flour. I learned about this in Home Ec. This is the single most useful piece of information I gained in middle school. I’ve only lost one set of kitchen curtains in a grease fire. “Flouring” hair, however, provides less-then-desirable results. I may as well have used my head to clean off the chalkboard before running it up and down the tray. I looked like Doc Brown from Back to the Future and smelled like I was hiding 2 loaves of charred toast under my shirt.
The smell of burnt is is a bitch to get out. I once had an oven fire and had to sleep in the front yard for 5 days. When I moved back home, I washed down every surface before throwing it all away. On the upside, I got to buy all new furniture and clothing. Buying a wig wouldn’t have been near as fun or made me see any upside to the hair fiasco, at all.
I can’t cook but I’m pretty good at mixing stuff. I have a really old hand-me-down kitchenAid mixer that I got from my Grandma Bradshaw. I rounded up perfumes, antiperspirants, new car deodorant, Gold Bond Triple Action foot spray, vanilla extract, Raid, baking soda, vinegar and a few squirts of Pledge. I love the smell of Pledge. It gives a great shine, which my hair could use. The potion did nothing to improve the smell of my head but I did vomit twice.
The dog ran over to help me clean up the mess. Which reminded be about the Febreze Air and Fabric Freshener that I use when the dog shits in the house. I doused my hair with the entire bottle, wrapped my head with saran wrap and slept in a shower cap. If I was still in the 9th grade I’d have taken at least 2nd place in the science fair contest.
By 9:00 A.M, I looked like the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man’s dream girl. I’m not sure if the dog caught a glimpse of me or got a whiff of the Febreze, but he was inspired to leave a heafty brown package on the kitchen floor.
In the end, I was left with 2 choices:
- Burn the rest of it down to the scalp.
- Live in a hat.
I tore the coat closet down to the studs. Luckily, it was only mid July and I hadn’t gotten around to putting the winter clothes away. I found a real beaut. Nice, red, heavy cable knit with a reindeer on it. I jammed my marshmallow into it for 7 weeks. During that same time Dairy Queen stopped selling cherry dip cones. WTF!!!
THE TAKE AWAY: Telling me to “walk it off Princess” will get you clawed up worse then a scratching post. You MUST have the right things to say and say them in the right way at the right moment. DON’T start asking questions like, “why did you use that hair dryer?” And DO NOT make any stupid-ass statements like, “It will grow back.” Just cover all the mirrors and reflective surfaces in the house and call Sheila. Buy ALL her fucking hats.
And don’t tell me you haven’t any drama. You are watching the hockey game, screaming obscenities at the top of your bloody lungs while jumping up and down in front of the tv like a circus clown on a pogo stick. That’s not exactly a normal emotional response.
This girl brings thrill and verve – a nice bouquet of exciting, unexpected events and circumstances paired with random, spectacular and over-emotional responses.
I’m totally crown-worthy. When my hair grows back, I will look fabulous in it.