A Hairy Situation

Dylan is devouring books lately. It makes it hard to read to her. She cries unless the book is actually in her mouth. Then she cries again because she can't get MORE of the book into her mouth. Stupid baby. Chill out kid, have a beer.














I got my hair cut yesterday. Usually when I need a haircut, plan A is to badger Annie into doing it. She thoughtlessly fled the country, so that's out. Plan B is to wander into the mall and get someone there to do it, but I haven't done that since we moved to Rochester so I don't even know of such a place here. So I had to go with plan C, which is to go to an actual freestanding salon. Well, freestanding except that it shares a building with Abbott's Custard (closed for the season, but ask at the salon if you want to buy a pint!). I wasn't thrilled about that because when I go to the mall they usually laugh at me because when was the last time I got a haircut? And why is it so uneven? But the nice man at the salon, let's call him Mabel, didn't laugh at me at all and did a great job when I wasn't really sure what I wanted him to do. So I says to Mabel, my sister is in the Peace Corps in Morocco, and he's like, oh I have a Moroccan friend here. He's a Jew and he left when they started killing Jews. How about that hair, I said.

When I was in the waiting area I was leafing through a Marie Claire and I saw a blurb that said "get the cover look -- $250." I turned to the cover and...the woman wasn't wearing any clothes.

I think "layers" = "glorified mullet" but I still like it. Some of you may recall the incident my freshman year of college where I got my hair cut really short and looked like a 10-year-old boy, according to some. I think now I've progressed to 14-year-old boy, but you can judge for yourselves: