Unwashed Logic Strikes Again

Normal Person Logic “My friend Dave is a chartered accountant. I wonder if he will do my taxes?”

Unwashed Logic “My friend Sula is a taxidermist. I wonder if she’ll cut my hair.”

The Great Unwashed– “Hey, sorry to call out of the blue like this, I have a favor to ask you.”

Sula *- “Of course. Anything.”

The Great Unwashed – “Will you cut my hair?”

Sula thrown off guard says a wobbly “Ok?”

The hair trimming experience went about as well for Sula as you might have expected. Sula is one of those women who takes pride in her appearance, thus she was a ball of anxiety wielding scissors about my head. By contrast as long as I have an appearance I’m good to go. Consequently while Sula painstakingly cut my curls with herb shears, (the kitchen scissors were deemed too large)  I was as happy as a clam because I had avoided making small talk with the stylist who was filling in for my regular hair dresser who was on vacation.

Just an FYI I’m going to need sanctuary when Sula finds out that I made her cut my hair just to avoid talking to a stranger about the weather. She might be peeved because I may have skipped over that part and forced her to trim my locks for “safety reasons related to my work”.

However I will say Sula had a sense of humour about the whole thing, because here is a transcript from one of our most recent phone calls.

The Great Unwashed– “Can I ask you a favour?”

Sula– “I’m going to need more information. You’re not going to ask me to cut your hair again are you?”

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of those who could have said “No” and forced me to talk about cumulonimbus cloud formations with a stranger for almost an hour.

The Post Where I Talk SMACK About My Dad

My Dad is the reigning Great Unwashed Super Fan. He’s the first to read most posts and he laughs the loudest when I read drafts to him. However it has been brought to my attention that I regularly write nice things about my Dad but have yet to do so about my Mom.

So Mom this post is for you.

The last week of June was a hard one for me. It was extremely busy but more importantly I had to shower FOUR TIMES. I’m going to repeat that last statement so the extent of my hardship can be fully comprehended – I showered FOUR TIMES.

It was awful, I was constantly clean, which made the clothing sniff test much harder because while normal people sniff a shirt and think “Does this smell clean?” I inhale the scent of my worn clothing and think “Does this smell cleaner than me?”

And last week the answer was nearly always “No”.

So I set about regressing to my mean of 2.5 showers a week by not bathing for five days. I arrived at my parent’s house on the fourth day of not showering; pungent but not quite grimy. My curly hair formed tight corkscrews that leapt off my head in all directions and my skin had the glow of a well rested hippie. Please note that although hippies would have you believe their excellent constitution and radiant skin comes from their locally grown, organic only diet, it’s actually from not bathing.

However my Grandmother’s eighty-ninth birthday was the following evening so I had planned to shower then. Before my father was set to return home I jumped in the tub and washed my dirt coated self including my corkscrew curls.

I jumped back out and my hair set about drying immediately, because that’s what short curly hair does- whatever the heck it feels like. And at that moment it felt like drying into perfect tight curls.

Fast forward half an hour, I’ve celebrated my newly washed state by running through my parents’ garden and am now sitting on my mother’s bed with clean, dry, curly hair and freshly dirt-coated feet. My father arrives home from work and sits down on the bed.

Dad- “I was figuring we’d leave in half an hour?”

Mom and The Great Unwashed – “We’re ready.”

Dad looks at The Great Unwashed- “When was the last time you washed your hair?”

The Great Unwashed in an indignant tone that conveys that if this is how she will be treated after showering she may never do so again- “Today!”

Dad – “Oh”

It’s called dirty blonde for a reason.

So that’s my talking smack about Dad post. Only then I turned to my mother and asked “Do I look unkempt?”

To which she replied, “No you look like you.”

Mom, for the record it would be a lot easier if you didn’t write the material for me.


Anyway so fast forward to the end of the night when I realize that even after being shoved into white socks and running through wet grass that my feet are still dirty. My father is generally complimentary; he’s the first one to tell me I look pretty or that a dress matches my eyes. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, and do some further questioning before writing smack about him.

The Great Unwashed perches at the top of the stairs while Dad assembles a midnight snack- “Dad, did you look at my feet before you asked about my hair earlier?”

Dad- “No, why?”

The Great Unwashed now contemplating stewing in her own bodily fluids for eternity again says in a huffy manner “No reason.”



Apparently I look unwashed even when I’m partially clean. I will never bathe again. Or at least I may not shower until Roscoe threatens grab the garden hose and spray me with it prison style if I don’t grab some soap myself.