My friend and fellow-conspirator at The Feminine Gift recently wrote about hair. We tackle very serious matters there as well, believe me - but isn't her hair and all its foibles near and dear to a woman's heart? For better or worse, our hair truly is our crowning glory.
Yesterday I wrote here about the surprisingly warm weather we're having. The two ideas have created today's smash-up of a post -- hair in warm weather. Or - because let's face it, this is all about me - my hair in warm weather.
Just over a month ago I hied myself off to a stylist and had my hair butchered... err... cut about 4 inches shorter. My thinking was, you see, that it would be nicely grown by the time summer came around and it would be well and truly long enough to put up again. There is nothing worse than damp and prickly hair rubbing against the back of your neck or forever hanging in your face.
In the words of Blue Rodeo, it's just bad timing that's all.
~ x ~ x ~
Elsewhere, back in the real world where people are coping with serious things, I was asked by one of the students today if I was Irish.
"Am I Irish?" I clarified, puzzled by his question. Earlier this week I was telling a friend that I don't feel Irish on St.Paddy's Day - my blood is just too Orange to ever run green.
"You sound like you're Irish," he said. "You have an accent."
"No," said I, "no I'm not Irish."
"Well, you have an accent," he insisted.
Somewhere out there in the ether is a lost friend who laughed when I said I've been told I sound European. How I wish I could tell him "I told you so."
I'm gracious like that.
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