(At least not of the hair.)
Yesterday I got my haircut and foiled with the hairdresser I have had for many years, since my original one had a near fatal aneurysm and had to stop cutting hair.
About every 6 months I go get my hair cut when I am sick of the white cloud on my head.
I always get the same cut: about an inch long all over and spikey.
This time.
Ohhh, this time I picked a photo out of a magazine of a different haircut and took it with. It required a much different look. Never mind that the woman in the photo was maybe 19yrs old and weighed 37 pounds. ("MAYBE if I get MY hair cut like that, I will look like her!!") I won't admit to that line of thinking but I bet it was in there someplace.
And I decided to have it foiled.
I was thinking of six or seven broad dark stripes...and then this fabulous cut.
That was last night.
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This morning at 8:30 I called the hairdresser and left a frantic message: I have to have you whack this off! It isn't me. I look like Hans Brinker in the THE SILVER SKATE! (Nevermind that she is far too young to have ever heard of Hans Brinker.)
So I have an appointment in awhile and I dutifully washed the goop that was holding it together out and now I REALLY look like Hans Brinker.
No photos of the hair. Absolutely not. I am bad enough just normally there is no way I am sharing a bad-decision haircut.
Here are some others to relieve the monotony of my blather:
Conley discovering that somewhere someone is grilling outside.
ten months old.
