"I want to write my truth."

You may have noticed that we have a lot of house-guests. And you might even have decided (clever you!) that the term "house-guest" is some kind of euphemism. Well! Maybe. Or maybe not. Or rather. Sometimes a house-guest is just a house-guest, and by that I mean: someone who visits one's house. Sometimes a house-guest is a house-guest but also a "house-guest", which is someone you like to play and discuss ping pong with. You may here be thinking that ping pong is another euphemism, but it isn't. Or, certainly not always. I actually do love ping pong. I like to play and talk about paddles and tables and balls. This all started when I went to high school at this super ultra nerd magnet school in Dallas which had no sports. At lunch we all got together and played ping pong, since we didn't have a cafeteria or lunch room. (This was in the very early days of TAG, and there were 29 kids in my class.) I left after my sophomore year because I needed to be in the top 10% of my class for college money, and I was right in the middle at TAG. But this was not before I had developed near Olympic level ping pong skills. Of course I haven't practiced, but I recently picked it up again, and I hate to be smug, but I still got game.

I like to talk to some house-guests about ping pong. Then there are some I would never want to talk about ping pong with, because they just don't understand. For instance, this one time recently my house-guest and I were playing some ping pong, and of course I kicked her ass, but she was good enough to be fun to play. Anyway, at some point she was admiring my topspin, which there was none of because the paddles were cheap and old and had no stick. But I couldn't convince her of this scientific fact! I tried; I really did. I explained that you can't create topspin in ping pong without a srsly sticky paddle because there's not enough distance. She didn't believe me. I think she maybe wanted to feel she was losing over the spin and not some other reason. Like because it saved her pride somehow? I don't know. The point is: there was no spin. She insisted there was spin, and I got so upset about this crucially important disagreement that I do not believe I can talk about ping pong with her again. She knows so little and refuses to learn! Unacceptable. And I was beating her with speed, not spin. It's funny how people prefer to lose for one reason instead of another.

At this point you may be thinking that ping pong, too, is a euphemism. Well! Sometime it might be. Here, it is not. How do you tell? Context clues, people. You may wonder, "Why does she (i.e. me) need euphemisms?" You are thinking, perhaps, if you hung out with Chimamanda Adichie last night like I did (Try to control your envy.) that we should tell our truths. (Ok--it was a book signing, not a hang out.) As she said last night (When she was in the same room as me!!!!!) "When I start to censor myself I don't want to write anymore because there really isn't any point. I want to write my truth." So, yeah. We should write our truths. But I have euphemisms. Because! Of reasons.

Now that we have all that cleared up, I will tell you a little story. The other day I decided to change Ari's shampoo. His hair was dry, and they discontinued the shit I love, so I spent an inordinate amount of time sniffing bottles illegally in Target. It's a wonder I wasn't arrested. You have to peel open the doohickeys, you know, these days. You can't just unscrew the tops and sniff. I found this lovely smelling stuff and bought it and brought it home. I put the kid in the tub, and I started in on his hair. Upon contact with water, the scent changed from lovely candy corn to melting plastic mixed with coconut. You think I'm kidding don't you? But, I'm not. Furthermore! I read the bottle and discovered that, though it was tear free, it was meant for people with Afros. I am not a bigot, bitches. I am quoting the bottle. As in: the bottle had "for Afros" printed on it. In words. How did I not see this before? Sleep-deprivation from too many house-guests? Olfactory fixation which blinded me to all other factors? Hell, I don't know. But the thing is, Ari doesn't have an Afro. You may have noticed this from the photos. He has, in fact, the whitest hair I have ever seen. I'm not proud. I wish it were not so. A little curl would do him wonders. I picked a donor with curly hair because I wanted Ari to have hair like B's, but who the fuck knows what happens all up in there during gestation? What would this concoction do to him? I worried. I'm very serious about reading labels, normally. While the two of us were gagging at the smell, I rinsed as hard as I could, but the stuff was stubborn. So then I washed his hair again with other shampoo, and I couldn't entirely get the smell out for a few days, but I hugged and kissed him as usual because that's what a mom does. Especially when she's the one who bought the shit. Now I am taking shampoo recs. The end.