Today is our last day on the beautiful California coast,; we head home after lunch.
We went to church with Lady Steed's family in their shrinking ward. It seems everytime we visit, it is smaller. Only 16 men (including three young men) attended general priesthood.
Anyway, Story 1:
"Why I don't comb my hair"
Lady Steed says (and my cosmetologist sister agrees) that my hair would look better sticking up. I, however, am resolute in never sticking disgusting goop in my hair.
So, as a compromise, I have ceased combing my hair, thereby giving it "texture."
Lady Steed seems to approve in this hygiene downgrade since, after all less hygiene = more sexy. (Everyone knows that.)
Then, today, as we walked into church, she noticed my unkempt locks and patted them down.
My whole personal image has been shattered.
For those who don't know, I turned 29 this month. That this may officially qualify as Getting Older was demonstrated to me in sacrament meeting today when the bishop asked the ward's new sister missionary to talk.
She was indistinguishable from a high school student.
And I realized that if even sister missionaries look like little kids, then I am getting old.
I shared this observation with Lady Steed and she said, "My gosh, you're right."
She's too kind.
Whoa. I think that missionary was totally from my mission. Actually, the missionary who I am thinking of was from Idaho. But when we saw her picture before she came into the mission, we started making all these "She must have been Miss Idaho" jokes.ReplyDelete
She came to the mission and we found out that she had *only* been Miss Pocatello.
Oh, and Nemesis says we don't know each other. So instead of running to hug each other on the street, we'd pass by each other, registering no recognition whatsoever. Unless, of course, I was wearing goggles and a big furry hat. Then you might recognize me.ReplyDelete
The way you say that implies you are not always so clad.