Somewhere between fifth grade and sixth grade Michael Jordan was the Bulls. Paula Abdul was still singing. George Michael was straight. And my stylish bowl-cut with rainbow bangs would soon give way to a head of curls.
I insisted that Nana come over because I knew that she rolled her hair a lot at home, and that seemed to be enough prestige to preside over Mom's attempt at our first home-permanent. Mom was still keeping it cool with the bowl cut, but Sister and I were ready to move into the 90s with Annie's curls and Punky Brewster's wit.
I don't remember a whole lot about that experience, other than we were tender-headed and Mom kept pulling, despite our tears, saying "Beauty must suffer pain." (Maybe this is why I gave up plucking my eyebrows for my New Year's resolution, which I've kept, I might add.) We sat in the kitchen on the yellow stool as Mom and Nana rolled and waited. We entered Sunday School the next day with the tightest brunette curls you've ever seen... and matching dresses.
This is an important back story. If you've ever had a permanent-- or walked into a country salon on the wrong day of the week, the one thing that you remember is the smell. Permanents stink. They stink so bad that you can taste the smell in your mouth. It's a bitter, foul whang that lingers...
That said, Unequivocal Prowess and I are together tonight trying different things. When the boys are gone we usually stick with hard cider and light beer. But tonight! Tonight we first tried raspberry cider-- which tasted like hot fish tank. (Her version is at the link above.) We were disapointed.
So then we tried the Pear cider. You might be thinking, okay, pears... pears are sweet, kinda gritty... an okay fruit to try alcholizing. Why not, right? Wrong.
It tastes like permanent. It tastes like it's 16 years ago and I'm sitting in the kitchen waiting to get the rollers out of my hair. It tastes like Wednesday at Extremities. It tastes like the night after you get a permanent, where you reek so much that your pillow smells for the rest of the week. Even if you try to drink it with your nose pinched, it tastes like the throw-away permanent that's sat in the sun for three days waiting for the dumpster pick-up.
Final verdict: Wodchuck Pear Draft Permanent Cider: Drunkeness should not have to suffer this pain.
This is a post not about the c-bomb.
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