St. Baldrick's Day, part I

My husband is funny.

Here it was, the morning of the big shave, and I hadn't slept without some sort of pharmaceutical helper in weeks.  As soon as my head would hit the pillow, I'd have stories and memories of Stephen playing across my mind like an endless, soundless historical newsreel.  I still hadn't slept well the night before, despite the drugs, in nervous anticipation of the following day. 

I wasn't concerned about losing all of my hair -- I had been mentally preparing for that for weeks, knowing full well that the outcome of the "voting" would be that I'd be bald.  I was nervous about the event itself.  All those people out there, watching -- but I was trying very hard not to think about them --  I worried about my people.  Would Little Bee and Bubba be patient and well-behaved?  Or would they run off and be lost in the crowd?  Would they recognize me afterward, or freak out, and want nothing to do with me?  And after the St. Baldrick's event itself, we'd invited many of our Austin friends and neighbors to our home for an "aftershave" party.  We'd be cooking about 20 lbs of corned beef and preparing a few sides for an afternoon luncheon, despite not being at home beyond 10:00 that morning.  Whose great idea was that?  Oh yeah.  Mine.  Hmm.

If you haven't met my husband, you should know that he's one of those "eccentric genius" types. 
CC is an incredibly competent computer professional (which is my way of opting out of telling you his actual job title, and I'll readily admit that I don't understand an iota of what he does).  He will get up before the sun to go into work, so that he can get home with plenty of time to play with our boys, and then he'll cheerfully help me with bedtimes and housework.  He's always got some sort of cockamamie scheme to build something, buy something completely practical and simultaneously insane, or create some artistic extension of himself.  Boundless energy.

But unless it's a wedding or a funeral, don't expect him to devote a moment of his time worrying about his appearance.  His shirt is untucked, his cuffs are frayed, his hat is stained, his shoes have no treads, his beard is shaggy.  It's not laziness, it's just that it rarely occurs to hin to even consider caring about something so superficial.  So imagine my surprise when he said, on St. Baldrick's Day, "What are you wearing?" 

And then, "I think you should wear something flamboyant."

Huh?

"No, really, you should.  Everything you've been doing lately has been building up to this.  All the writing, the blogging, the networking, all the Facebooking, everything.  It's a big deal."

I'd been planning on something simple.  A tiny bit more feminine than my accustomed t-shirt and jeans.  But gray, or brown, so I could maybe fade into the background like a common toad....

So now I guess I'll reveal a little secret about me:  I'm the personification of Michigan J. Frog.  (Go ahead, click it!  I'll wait.  You'll remember and enjoy it, I promise.  Just put on your headphones if you're at work.) 

Most of the time I sit around doing my accustomed little froggy things, and am more or less unremarkable.  And then sometimes I'll get an idea in my head that I really want to accomplish something, and so I'll put on a top hat and get out my cane, and I'll sing and dance for a while in the privacy of my own home, or when I think no one is really paying any attention.  But put me out in the limelight, and, well; "Ribbit." 

Anyway.  More about that later.

CC marched into my closet, pulled out a shirt covered in a shiny silver pattern like the bubbles in a glass of champagne, and said, "Here.  You should wear this."

And so I compromised, and put on pants the color of a common toad.

My auburn curls blowing in the breeze for the last time.