I like his style.

My hair hasn't been done by a professional since November, right before I went back to work. It wasn't a complicated appointment -- just a cut and color -- and my boss happened to walk in while I was being styled. Since this was near four months ago, I wonder if she has been back since. I know I haven't and it shows.

Between Mister Man being in the hospital and the travel worries and going back to work, I swear I have grown a head full of gray hair. I had gray hair before, I can't deny it, but I am rivaling George Clooney. You know those crazy cat women you see in TV shows who have the dark, frizzle hair with the grey bits that stick up and going all wonky making them look properly BSC? She is usually leaning out of her front door in her housecoat with a can of tuna in one hand and three old crusty cats under her other arm going, "Psst psst psst, here kitty kitty". I'm her. Without the cats. I hate cats. They are the devil's animals. The rest is true.

I could color it myself in my mother's bathroom but I have an aversion to home hair upkeep. I wanted to show my freshman high school photo here but I can't find it. My bangs (yes, I had bangs) looked like the stripe on Charlie Brown's shirt. My mother would insist that with a little tape and the scissors from the junk drawer my bangs would look as good as new for picture day. At the time I did not know the smell of tequila on someone's breath and failed to stop her.

Now she has unleashed her skills on my son. She had been begging me for a week to let her cut his hair because it was in his eyes. "All it will take a twist, " she said enthusiastically, "and a snip! It will be out of his face!" We insisted this wouldn't work. She insisted back that it would. I looked at the hair in my child's eyes and knew something had to be done.




Yikes, indeed, but at least it's not in his face anymore.

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Liz in Dublin