Remember when I cut off all my hair, waaaay back in September of 2009? Remember how I told y’all I was donating the 16″ of dyed-brown braid to Locks of Love.
Well, yes, I meant to do that.
However, intentions being what they are, and my memory being what it is… I didn’t.
Instead, The Braid languished on a bookshelf in the living room for One Full Year. Gross… I know. I kept thinking that having it right out in plain sight would remind me to fill out the donation form and pop it into the mail, off to become part of a self-respect-reclaiming wig for a sick child. It didn’t.
Occasionally, visitors have noticed The Braid, offering up varying expressions of curiosity and mild disgust, accompanied by even milder amusement for my forgetfulness. You’d think the repeated embarrassment of procrastination would urge me along. It didn’t.
The husband’s expressions, however, tend more towards the mild disgust variety, sprinkled with exasperation—rather than amusement— for my forgetfulness and the constant, mustily Victorian presence of The Braid in our living room. But, hey, he’s the one who has to look at it all the time.
So last Sunday, during after-church coffee hour, and seated snugly in a small group of our friends, the husband took action. You see, he finally deduced—correctly!—that a little public shame might just be the best way to simultaneously jog my forgetful little pack of intentions and finally rid the house of The Braid.
Note: This sequence dramatized for effect.
Also I forget the actual dialogue, but it went something like this.
Husband: Hey everyone, remember when Emilie cut off all her hair, waaaay back in September of last year?
Me: Aw, maaaaan.
Group of friends around the table: (Assorted nods, smirks from those in-the-know.)
Husband: Well, she never sent it off.
Friends: (Raised eyebrows. Smirks become giggles.)
Me: I meant to! I keep forgetting! (blush, blush blush)
Husband: And now it’s moved from the bookshelf to the kitchen counter.
Me: Aggghghgh! I know, I know, I know! (blush blush, BLUSH).
Husband: I just thought a little public shame might help. (wicked little grin and a comforting hug.)
Me: (tight lips, chagrin, sheepish, all the rest). Yes. Yes it does.
And it did. Two days ago, one year behind schedule, into the mail it went. Farewell, once and for all to The Braid. And, once again, thank you to the husband for knowing the proper forms of “encouragement” for any and all occasions.