My life changed forever the day I got that first group text from my mom. I knew it was inevitable, that she would one day break free from the chains of antiquated technology that bound the Hoffmann family to VHS players and flip phones for decades. That she would one day figure out how to add both of my sisters and me to the "To" field. That she would then discover how to flip the camera around and take selfies.
But seriously, I don't think anyone could have predicted the magnitude with which this earthquake would strike, deep within the depths of a Wednesday afternoon... or far below on a quaint Friday evening when you least expect it.
We get the occasional picture of the cat sitting on my sister's face, or a beautiful Montauk sunset, or a cute picture of my mom and dad out on a date night. But 96.7% of them focus on her hair.
Mom: Okay girls, what do you think about this cut? Way better than the other one right?
[A solid two hours of silence inevitably pass before I feel like a dick and cave because I know my sisters are stronger than I am.]
The answer that that question is always YES. YES, I am being a smart beep and YES your chain has been yanked! You know why? Because the other two pictures you sent were these:
I know I'm not the most observant person on the planet when it comes to physical appearance (pretty sure I inherited that from my dad who has his own set of issues after she brings home the final product for his portion of the exam) but I have to believe that the only difference between these two pictures is that maybe she just woke up before the first one was taken. Color wise, I'm stumped.
My mom has great hair - it's wavy, it's thick, she somehow knows how to use those big round brushes to get the back of her hair perfect when she blow dries it. It always looks awesome and perfectly coiffed, if I'm forced to use that word. But for the love of Lisa Rinna, I can't tell you the difference between how it looks now and how it looked 10 years ago.
Where I'm like Joe Biden and end up with verbal diarrhea in place of an opinion, my middle sister is like Dick Cheney, cold as ice and unresponsive. My youngest teenage sister however (we'll call her the Ronald Reagan of group texts) is the most skilled of us all. She always comes flying in with her manipulative jar of jelly beans and a big fat "Mom, you would look great in all of them, but I think you would look extra beautiful with the third picture."
And I can't even be mad...girl knows who butters her bread.
My mom has great hair - it's wavy, it's thick, she somehow knows how to use those big round brushes to get the back of her hair perfect when she blow dries it. It always looks awesome and perfectly coiffed, if I'm forced to use that word. But for the love of Lisa Rinna, I can't tell you the difference between how it looks now and how it looked 10 years ago.
Where I'm like Joe Biden and end up with verbal diarrhea in place of an opinion, my middle sister is like Dick Cheney, cold as ice and unresponsive. My youngest teenage sister however (we'll call her the Ronald Reagan of group texts) is the most skilled of us all. She always comes flying in with her manipulative jar of jelly beans and a big fat "Mom, you would look great in all of them, but I think you would look extra beautiful with the third picture."
And I can't even be mad...girl knows who butters her bread.
