Televangelists and The Hair

If it is harder for a rich man to pass through the eye of a needle, then how in the name of Jesus do these women cope? These coiffy little creations are surely a gift from the Maker, cos I'm pretty sure there's not a stylist alive who would create these WILLINGLY. It's not just one either - I've done some research.

It all started with this one - I was whiling away a bit of spare time watching TBN (that's Trinity Broadcasting Network for those not in the know)... the Lord's Message was pretty much lost on me as I spent the entire time sitting agog at her HAIR. Father, have mercy... surely.

We can't forget Tammy Faye - she's a legend and provided me with a lot of material, here and here.

It got me thinking that perhaps there IS a message we're missing - if you're one of the In Crew, Jesus will bless you with unique Hair Style. Which speaks volumes about the daily struggle I have with my hair straighteners. Forget eternal salvation, forget the riches of Heaven - if you have Jesus in your heart, it's all about The Hair.

The Creator doesn't do this washy-washy gender-specific crap either; the boys get a go too... and even in New Zealand, the style-wise Father has blessed his kiwi sons.

I have decided that humanism is the way to go thanks... unless it's really Bad Hair Day and I have to grab the hijab.

A day in the life of a children's librarian...

...sure takes many guises.

Today, it was that of social worker/lost-child-rescuer. I was on the main enquiries desk for the most part of the afternoon, trying to resist the urge to poke myself with pins to stay awake. I had noticed this loud child earlier (and wondered, even as a mother, how his lungs could have been so DEVELOPED) wandering around looking for his mother who was esconced in a book about tattoo designs and kept waving him away, but this time, he was extremely distressed and wailing for Mummy. I knew who his mother was, so I didn't relish the task of chasing her down over the entire library.

Armed with tissues (because the candlesticks were starting to defy gravity), I briskly walked up and took his hand. I had just been working on a song sheet for the next day's Baby session, so I had "Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree" in my head. I thought everybody knew the song, so I wondered why he looked at me sideways.

Anyway, it took his mind off his deserted-child status long enough to walk around the library with me looking for his mother. She wasn't there. By this stage, my self-righteous indignation was starting to kick in. Library procedure lead me to take said child across the road to the local police station. This excited T. no end and prompted a bout of verbal diarrhoea about how the police had been to his house before (no surprises there). To his credit, he was able to give the on-duty police officer his full name, address, phone number and his mother's name - at four years old, this is no mean feat.

While we were waiting in an interview room (reading about suspect interrogation technique gave me inspiration for my own offspring), Mummy turned up. Apparently T had decided to take himself off to the local Macca's... HOW he managed to get there and back without being bowled reinforced my belief in angels. Mummy was full of blustering apologies, but I was back on my self-righteous high horse and had to resist the urge to give her a phone number for the local Parents Centre, along with one of our video hire vouchers, so she would know which way to go to avoid looking and acting more like an extra on Deliverance.

It leads me to ask the age-old question - if we have to register our dogs, why not parents for their children? I'm going off to look on Google for some kind of Parental Aptitude test.

On a totally shallow note - at least the policeman was HOT.

Undie revolution?

An answer to the VPL and the thong line, apparently. I had reservations about those things too... I could never figure what was the lesser of two evils; g strings that tortured you with a perpetual wedgie, or nana-knickers that almost doubled as a torsolette. But now there is a NEW evil.... "backless lingerie"

I must say I am not the most visionary when it comes to new things - I thought boil-in-the-bag rice was cheating. But the mere thought of feeling my knicker STRAPS clutching my upper thighs broke me out in a sweat. Although, women would at least be able to not-so-surreptitiously adjust their knicker line without anyone knowing what they were doing.

I am feeling a little ambivalent about this wondrous invention. Ask me again after I've bought some to try them out... although I doubt they will be able to top No-Undie Mondays.