It's 1:43am and Mrs. G. has been working on a post for a couple of hours. She's going to have to call it a night, but she wanted to leave you with a tiny taste of what's to come.
She spent this weekend at her mom's house, and among other things, Mrs. G. had the opportunity to paw through old boxes of photos and mementos she hadn't looked at in nearly twenty years. The good news is Mrs. G. came across photos and scrapbooks that should keep her in the story business for a good while longer. The bad news is some of the photographs probably shouldn't see the light of day. The good news or bad news, depending on if you're a stickler for dignity or not, is Mrs. G. feels like laying it on the line, telling it like it is, keeping it on the level and the up and up. She figures if she's about to shake your hand, kiss your cheek or sleep on your couch, you really have a right to be familiar with her inside track.
Mrs. G's mom really was a red headed hottie.
Mrs. G. became obsessed with her hair at an early age. Her mom has reported that the metal comb you see in the picture (the one that could put an eye out back when putting an eye out it wasn't some social services knocking at your door, huge ass deal) was Mrs. G's favorite toy for an entire summer. Family legend has it Mrs. G. could tease a full head of hair by the age of two.
Those of you who Mrs. G. has been trying to talk into going dancing with her during the road trip might not know she was professionally trained, but she was...for four months in the garage of a woman named Miss Beverly. Once a week, Mrs. G. step-ball-changed all over the concrete floor of Miss Beverly's garage studio. She quit after the first dance recital because she felt she'd reached her peak and had really only agreed to dance lessons because she wanted a flashy costume like her friend Connie. Mrs. G. lived in that costume once she got home from school and shucked off her uniform. She pretended the long fringe over her left shoulder was her hair and flipped it back often like her idol, Cher.
Mrs. G. is going to continue to lobby for some dancing. Not all her moves look like she might be suffering gastrointestinal distress.
Full post with scads of sketchy photos to follow before nightfall.
Happy Monday, Derfs!