I actually hate Nickleback. Let the record be clear. Ugh. I can't stand them. Sorry. But I will say this, they are like Country Music. I am always surprised at how many Americans really do like them. They're like that all American band or something and their concerts bring in just tons of people and when they were in Omaha I was shocked to see which "friends" of mine were actually attending. But that being said, I actually hate them.

Ok. Anyways. So. Last night Zach called on his way home from work and said to me, get the girls ready, I'm taking you out to dinner.

Haha. I guess he wasn't quite that demanding and in my head just now he said it with a Southern accent, which was definitely not true to real life. But he did call and tell me he wanted to take us to dinner.

And by dinner I mean Pepperjax because on Wednesday nights kids eat free. And so the four of us literally eat for $12. Sorry. I can't make a meal for that.

Ok. I can make spaghetti for that. But we're off heavy carbs right now.

So Zach called just as he was leaving the shop and that gives me about 45 minutes to get the girls ready(We had been outside and they were in the pool) and get me a shower(Well, because it had been a while.... What? I had been cleaning the last two days.).

The girls are easy enough to get ready, it's just a little time consuming.

Me? Not so easy. It takes a while. Put aside the fact that I'm a woman and my make up alone takes a good 15 minutes or longer(I know. There was a time in my life where I only wore eye make up and I could literally get it all done in 3 minutes. But folks, that time has come and gone, and unless I want to make a botox appointment, I need a little more work.) and don't even get me started on my hair.

Washing it. Oy. Washing it. I'm not even going to go into it. But I will say that it takes a while. There's a lot of difficult hair there and if I want it clean I have to be ready for the long haul. And then there's the getting through it after the shower. Another Oy. I do my best to never brush my hair, basically because I'm worried that it will all fall out(That's a legitimate fear if you knew how much hair I lost just between the conditioner and pick. Handfulls. Gross. I know. But for real.) and so the pick takes a little while. Right here, I'm not sure if it's spelled pic or pick, but pic feels incomplete to me. Ok, so I get through it. Then I apply the product, which is a process in itself and then, and only then do I blow dry it. Which bunker on in people, that's a good long process. I have thick hair and with all of the product weighing it down, it's no easy task.

Enough about the hair though, I guess that was me, not getting into it. . Ok, the point is that it's some work. It's a total pain. But the alternative is worse. And last night Zach got home from work I was in the middle of the pick out process. He rolled his eyes, ruling out the restaurant because he knows. Ok. He knows the process.

I gave him a sheepish smile and continued picking out. Then I start to feel guilty, like my hair is going to keep us from going out to dinner.

So, I decided to do the worst thing possible. I comb through it. Tie it in a bun at the nape of my neck wet and all, give myself some volume the best I can with bobby pins because I think I'm a Real Housewife from New Jersey and add a headband to call it good. It wasn't pretty, and my face looked huge, well because I'm used to the big hair, but it sufficed. Just for dinner at just Pepperjax. Plus it cut like a whole half hour to 45 minutes off of my "out the door" time.

After we got back, I took the bun out to assess the damage. No product=hair like you've never seen before. But it was still wet, so the full effect of badness hadn't set in yet. I gave myself a side braid and walked upstairs. I can't explain what happened next. I got a compliment from not one person, but three. Three separate people complimented me on my hair.


I mean, if you've been one of the lucky few to have seen my hair without product, you would know that just shouldn't happen.

And one of the compliments even came from my husband. What!

Aren't compliments funny?

I mean, seriously, who doesn't like a nice compliment?

I know I do. I will even take everything as a compliment. Like if Zach were to say, "I don't understand you." Boom. Compliment. Or if a friend of mine remarks that I'm a conspiracy nut. Boom. Another Compliment.

I have high self esteem. What can I say?

But even still. Compliments are nice. But they're also funny. People compliment the weirdest stuff. Like my non-product-ed hair. Nobody should even see that, let alone compliment it!

Or the other day, I was wearing these yoga pants. They're like this weird, dark shade of gray. Plus they're maternity. What? They're yoga pants ok. Selling "maternity" yoga pants to the pregnant is like selling sand to the dessert. There's no difference people, so stop judging.

But this lady totally stopped me and loved my pants. She asked me all kinds of questions about them and where she could get them.

I told her target.

I did not tell her they were four years old and maternity. Whoops.

I mean, I compliment people all of the time. I like most things and so I usually tell people that.

Sometimes I even use it as a total conversation filler. Like when I have nothing to say, or the moment has turned awkward. I just compliment people. I mean, I usually try to be honest about it, but I can't always stop a little white lie of a compliment. And I know I'm not the only person out there doing this.

I should just clarify I only do this when it's people I don't know. My friends and I never really seem to have awkward pauses in the conversation. In fact, usually we can go on for hours, only stopping to yell at our kids in between sentences.

So who knows if last nights compliments were real or not. I will certainly take them though, either way.


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