In-House Memo
To: My Teenage Son
From: Mom
Concerning: Your Future Marital Happiness
The other day when I asked you what I should do with my hair (cut my bangs or not cut my bangs, dye my hair red or not dye my hair red, part my hair in the middle or not part my hair in the middle, French-comb my hair or not French-comb my hair) YOU SAID (and I quote): "I don't care."
I pressed you even though you were vegetating in front of the television, watching the Titans bushwack the Bills.
Aw, come on, I said, it's a new century! Everybody should have at least one very cool new hairdo per century!
YOU SAID (and I quote): "I told you I don't care what you do with your hair. Besides, Mom, who are you trying to impress?"
Your implication, of course, was that I am WAY over the hill and no one is looking anyway, so why bother? I will have you know that George Clooney has secret fantasies about short, middle-aged Mormon women with stomach muscles weakened from child-bearing.
Or at least I sincerely hope he does.
Your response reminded me of that time your dad and I went to Hires for a fast fry fix. When we walked through the door, I noticed a group of high school boys in backward baseball caps sitting around one of the tables. They were the kind of guys who used to sit on the green benches in main hall at Provo High School, rating girls ("Fox!" "Not a Fox!") who paraded (willingly/unwillingly) past them. Without even thinking, I sucked in my stomach as we walked past their table, which caused your dad to whisper, "Give it up, sweetheart."
So! This is to let you (and also your dad) know that I am not trying to impress cute boys at Hires, duh. In fact, I am not trying to impress anybody. I just care about my hair because here's the deal: In the grand scheme of things, HAIR MATTERS.
It really does. Especially to the women in our family.
Take my Grandma Addie, for example. Addie was as decent and tough as they come. She raised 14 kids in a tiny house with one bathroom, and when the kids were gone, she helped my grandpa make a living by driving a truck and selling produce. This girl had spunk and character to spare. So what did Addie choose to write about in her personal journal? Hard times? No. She wrote about her hair and what she was having done to it (washed and set, rinsed every six weeks, permed every six months.) In a life lived taking care of other people and making ends meet, fussing about hair was the one thing Addie did for herself.
My Grandma Louise (a vivid redhead who at the age of 88 could outwork, outsmart and outtalk anybody who got in her way) cared about hair, too. The last words she uttered to my mother in a matter-of-fact voice before she died were, "I need a tint tomorrow, Pat."
OK. Do you get it yet?
Hair is a very BIG DEAL. Everybody knows that if you just find the perfect hairdo everything else in your life will automatically fall into place.
So, here's a little advice. When that cute future wife asks you what she should do with her hair, do NOT say, "I don't care." Instead, follow this script, and marital bliss will be yours.
Guaranteed.
YOUR WIFE: What should I do with my hair?
YOU: (making eye contact and sounding sincere) I'm so happy we get to talk about your hair again! It's my favorite topic of conversation!
YOUR WIFE: Should I get it cut like Meg Ryan's?
YOU: Hey! Maybe you could get your hair cut like Meg Ryan!
YOUR WIFE: Or should I grow it out like Jennifer Aniston?
YOU: I have an idea! Maybe you could grow it out like Jennifer Aniston!
The trick is to sound like you're giving advice (which shows you care) without actually telling your future wife what to do (which shows you are a chauvinist creep). And then after she does whatever she does to her hair (which she'll do without taking any of your advice), the trick is to act like Sally Field on Oscars night and tell her that you really, really like it.
See? When it comes to hair, marital communication is a snap once you understand the rules.