For our date night last week, Sam and I ordered take-out and watched You’ve Got Mail. I feel obligated to say that it wasn’t on Netflix, given my slew (well, two) of Netflix posts last week. Instead, we kicked it old school and watched the DVD I’ve had since I was in high school (yep, sometimes the newfangled digital shit can last, unless Little Man touches it, anyway).
My grandmother was a fan of romantic comedies, so I watched a lot of those since I lived with her. She was a Meg Ryan superfan (until The Affair with Russell Crowe, sigh), and I became one too after watching You’ve Got Mail. As a teen who had recently gotten an Internet connection, I thought it was the most romantic thing ever. A smart guy! Who enjoys books! And can write! Such a guy didn’t exist in my class of 70-odd students, so that movie gave my love life a little hope (although working up the nerve to go the online route would come later).
You know how couples have a song? It might be the first song they ever danced to together or the one they danced to at their wedding. This movie is our equivalent of our song. (Truth be told, we have a song, too. And it’s not Hanson, because Sam put his foot down.) We went the same route as the characters, meeting online, taking forever to meet, and when we did it was amazeballs (well, it was amazeballs a couple months after we met, anyway, when my nervousness wore off). Our story isn’t as interesting though, and consists only of a few missed hints and involuntarily dodged kisses — no business war or bailing on meeting or leading someone on while not telling them you’re the online guy they’re infatuated with. But otherwise IT’S EXACTLY THE SAME.
We were getting sappy and stuff while watching the movie, reciting lines here and there, like it was of Star Wars or Shakespeare importance, when it dawned on me that there was something about me that Sam didn’t know. Once you’ve been married to someone for 10 years — hell, even 5 — finding something new to share from one’s past is pretty major. It’s almost on the level of giving diamonds. Almost.
“Oh my god, that haircut!” I commented. “I loved that haircut when I was in high school. I had it for the better part of two years. But it never worked out.”
This is it, in case you haven’t watched You’ve Got Mail or just don’t remember:
Between my lack of being able to blow my wavy (but not curly, dammit) hair straight, it not being the right haircut for my face, and the crappy stylist whose cuts rarely resembled the picture given, the haircut didn’t work for me. It didn’t work the first time I was a sophomore in high school, or the second time with blonde highlights, or even the 89th time, when I was a senior in high school, and I’d highlighted my hair so much that it was nearly straight up blonde. (This is when I realized I should just let it grow out and go back to my natural color.)
“You meant you actually wanted the haircut of a woman in her 40s?” Sam asked with a smirk on his face.
“She wasn’t in her 40s at the time,” I said, defending my style choice for god knows what reason. “Probably like her 30s. Or mid-30s.”
“That’s really not better. You were 15!”
“Almost 16, though. And it was a cute haircut! Just not on me. Which may be why I didn’t date more in high school.”
“Aw, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Sam said. “Just pretty bad.” I have yet to show him my picture in the yearbook from that haircut — the one where I was wearing a plain white t-shirt for, again, god knows what reason. Add in being sweaty as hell because it was early September in SC, and you’ve got loads of awfulness.
I also didn’t tell him about how, when I first got the cut, that my English teacher marked me as being absent on the attendance slip that day and had to page the office to have them correct it so I wouldn’t get a detention for skipping when I was eventually (I assume) marked present in another class. That should have deterred me from getting it again, but nope. Awkward teenage years were awkward.
At least I know better now!
Any hair horror stories you’d like to share? Or maybe there was a time when you tried to be an almost middle-aged woman when you were a teen?