Quit Mocking Me

Back in my day, we didn't have personal computers. Our pc was pickup the Colliers. Now we can simply click on Wikipedia and discover abstruse volumes of information.

Wikipedia's description of hair is, "An outgrowth of filamentous cells, containing keratin, that grows from follicles found in the dermis."

My description of hair is this: "The lovely, long locks that transform a five year old into a screaming blond banshee yelling, "I want Theresa, my big sister, to do it", whenever mother comes near with a brush." Who would have thought that female fussy would grow up to be such a stylish stylist.

After years of her whishin' and hopin' and thinkin' and prayin', moanin', and groanin' and a little side-steppin' my Rachel finally enrolled in VICI Aveda Institute. For nearly a year now she has been pursuing her passion; that multifaceted world of cosmetology. She has always possessed the rare, raw talent. But now she is refining her skills.

A few days ago she had her mocks, which means exactly what it implies. A mock test of various hair color, curl, and cuts. She asked me to be her 'mock' model or guinea pig if you prefer. Without too much squealing I complied. Although, falling somewhere between the two generations, I did threaten to show up wearing a Lady Gaga, or Phylis Diller hairstyle, just to bring some comic relief.

As soon as I walked into the pseudo salon I could feel the fear. Whispers of last minute reminders bounced around like a badminton birdie. Twelve female wannabe cosmetologists all a tangle of stress so thick you couldn't get a comb through it.

Even though 'us mocks' were told not to talk too much because it was a test, I couldn't help cracking up a little even if it was silently. With head down, watching only the floor, I noticed an ant scurrying across the ceramic tile. "Hey", I called out in my mind, "someone get your 'ant' a chair." Or, when the instructor announced the use of cholesterol for one of the procedures and I commented, "No cholesterol for me thanks I'm watching my levels."

With nothing else to do but mere minor chit-chat and a lot of thinking, I came up with a rhyme for those mocking birds ready to fly. It's admiringly called, Mocks in Smocks.

Here's an easy way to hair.
Here's an easy thing to bear...
Blond mocks.
Red mocks.
Whose smocks?
Head mocks.
Who smocks whose mocks?
You smock head mocks.

As the better part of the morning passed I got a bit nostalgic about my little girl all grown up, with a bouncy boy of her own, on her way to a cosmetized career. And I was reminded of a few lines from a song my mother used to sing.
Darling, I am growing old,
Silver threads among the gold
Shine upon my brow today,
Life is fading fast away.
But, my darling, you will be,
Always young and fair to me.

For a few hours I sat there while my daughter mocked up my hair. I got a pretend perm, an unreal retouch, and a counterfeit color. All for the priceless bond of weaving some older silver threads among the younger gold. And after a shampoo and a blow dry, I think we all left looking very 'hott' from twelve as close as can be cosmetologists in a room with a dozen little hot air machines all blowing at the same time.

I don't know about the others, but I had so much fun it mocked my smocks off.

 Congratulations my beautiful stylist! I love you ~~ Mom