It's not a TOO-MAH!

Oh, the ridiculous things I do for vanity!  Why must looking good (or trying to for that matter) be so painful?  I mean seriously, when I put some effort into trying to look good, it is a long and painful process and even then I'm usually just 'eh with the results.

Before I explain the retardedness of this last little venture of mine, I'm just going to list a few of the stupid things I do for vanity.

Waxing, oh yeah I'm a masochist.  No, really, it's  a darn good wednesday when you get your hairs ripped out by the root by some asian chick with a bowl of molten lava and a popsicle stick.  It's even better when she asks you if you normally bleed this much.  You just nod and say that the tears are tears of joy from admiring her exquisite  and artful work.

Then there's the shoes.  Oh mama the shoes.  Before I got pregnant I had almost developed TWO full corns on my early twenty something feet.  That's right, I said CORNS!  I didn't care.  I bore that cross with love, and a somewhat grimacing expression.  Because the prettier the shoes and higher the heel, the more painful they were.  I would've sprouted 10 tiny mullets on my feet and named each one of them after cities in Texas if it kept me wearing those shoes.  But, I gave most of them up when the bean came along.  I'm clumsy enough when I'm not carrying a baby; no need to add any more brain damage to this family by dropping her on her head.

I am also a fan of micro-dermabrasion.  Yes, I like to have someone take tiny rock particles and sand blast them all over my face while they play Enya and pretend that it makes a difference.  

Why?  Because it makes you feel smooooth, and shiny, and red.  Something like a tomato.

The cake topper though came last Friday.  I went in for my usual root jobby at the hair stylist and asked my colorist if he could add some darker color underneath to give it some more depth.    He obliged my whim like a good boy and proceeded to paint the bottom half of my hair brown.  He highlighted the rest of my roots blonde and washed me up and sent me home.  I was thrilled and felt like skipping to my car with glee when I started to feel a little itchy.  Almost within the hour I had what felt like scabs developing all over the back of my head.  Oh, how I needed a cone collar because it itched so bad.  The better part of my friday night was spent sidled right up next to my dogs in a frantic scratching circle.  We bonded over that.  We're like, tight now.

By Saturday morning, one of the lymph nodes on the back of my neck had swollen to about the size of a large grape and IT HURT.  The whole area back there was tender, so I tried to refrain from scratching.  On Sunday the pain was worse and my neck was tight.  But being the awesome person that I am; I didn't let it stop me.  I managed to complete all my domestic duties without the ability to look up.  

Monday morning comes and I now can't turn my head all the way left or right and the pain is now radiating heat.  This starts to worry me, so I do a google search and this is apparently what I have to look forward to.  Sheesh!  

Inspired by all the political poling on, I decided to conduct a survey of my own to find out wether or not I should seek treatment for this affliction.  4 out of 5 homeless guys said:  "You think that's itchy?  Take a look at this!"  And 100% of mom's at the playground just gritted their teeth and grinned while slowly backing away.  I think I heard one of them say to her son, "Just don't look it in the eyes, it'll think you're challenging it."  Based on those findings and the intolerable level of pain I'm in; I have decided to go to the doctor tomorrow.