Dear lord it’s muggy. It’s like Houston up in here. My hair is huge. HUGE! And not in that “the higher the hair, the closer to god” Dallas huge either, I mean; full on pre raphaelite with a finger in the light socket, huge. People in the 70’s only wish they could have had hair this big.
And I have a hair appointment today with a new stylist, whom I haven’t met, but who has done a nice job on some ladies that I know. So I’m hopeful she can tame this monster. But I tell ya, I’m kinda manic today, it’s super hot, I’ve got another two months of taking Boy to the pool almost every day, I’m still in a walking cast, and about the last thing in the world I want to do is fuck with my hair every day.
I may cut off my hair. Not like that weird middle aged bob that everyone in this town seems to get when they turn 40, but maybe lose a couple of feet and take it up to my shoulders. I dunno. I always say I’m going to cut off my hair, but when I do, I cry for days. But gawddahm it’s hot and I hate, hate, HATE sweating. (Why, in the name of all that is holy I’m still in the heatsink that is the Texas plains when I don’t really like the hot, baffles me.)