Randomommy: Sharp

It's been quite a sharp week. Sometimes I have a fuzzy week. Other times, it may be pointy. Like so:

1. Chicks, don't you hate those girls who complain of scratchy leg hair when theirs is but a downy birdfuzz of legfloss after months of cultivation? While shaving my legs this week I realized the following: my own leg hair is so sharp that when confronted with a razor blade, the stubble shaves it right back. Anyhoo. On Wednesday I went to the drugstore in search of fresh razor blades, but in the face of all the blade options, I forgot what kind of razor I have. There are also these quite massive triple-quadruple hot-pink lady-blades and then the minty green ones and the ones shaped all weird and thick and complete with suction cup, like an octopus's tentacle. I am convinced there is a razor industry conspiracy to dazzle people into confusion regarding their razor model, so that this way they start with a new razor every time they go to the blades. It's just too overwhelming otherwise, too much effort to remember what you're actually looking for.

2. Took Crabtot for new family treat: bus into downtown, to meet Dad for lunch. Dad took us to a swell place, where we were served by a friendly mannish lady with those weird round metal discs people wear inside their earlobe these days, on this side of the country in particular. More to the pointy, she had an artichoke tattooed on her chest, flesh spikes coming out of her collar. Crabtot got mad because she wanted clinky ice in her water then didn't want clinky ice in her water. Mom's voice turned sharp. The event went sideways and turned everyone prickly. We left with a wailing, flailing tot gnashing her teeth and making as if to bite me.

3. On our regular walk around the neighborhood Crabtot and I came to a small tree that we quite enjoy. Sort of like a mini-cypress. Uptight, upright. We decided to name it. I wanted to call it Shampiqua, which is the name I for no reason assign to most everything these days that needs a name. Crabtot decided to call it Shot instead, on account of its perfect spikiness.

4. Crabtot has an actual shot tomorrow. This caps a spiky week. I saved the worst for last, though: a few days ago the wee lass decided to sharpen her finger with my pencil sharpener, no doubt tantalized by my dire hypermommy warnings of what might ensue, should she ever choose to do something so freaky and destructive. She ferreted the pencil sharpener out of its hiding place and gave her finger a tentative little tweak down that dark mysterious corridor that until now, only her pencils had known. The damage wasn't bad. A bit of blood is always a thrill to a small person anyway. And the incident reminded me of my friend, Natasha, and her little brother who saw her shaving in the bath and asked her why she was sharpening her legs.

What kind of week are you having? Is it round? Flat? Sharp? Is it pinkish?

And may I direct those who feel so inclined to my latest bloglet post, focusing on A Nation of Wimps, the brilliant excoriation of ubermommy culture by psychologist Hara Estroff Marano.