If My Hair Could Talk

 Some days we just wake up looking cool.

Having short hair is like opening a weird present every morning that your old, great aunt gave you.

Unpredictable.

I woke up the other day to this, and I actually liked it. I put makeup on, and just let it be funky. Until half the day went by and Tom said, "I like your hair, but you're not going with me to the grocery store like that, are you?"

Class, all the way.

Hmph! I guess not everyone can handle my hair's "unbridled enthusiasm."

I suppose he prefers the classier look, and I'm not convinced I know how to be classy. I think he's confusing "class" with "crass."

I burp, talk about bodily functions for fun, inhale my food like it's a contest, and put on lipstick in public (oh my!)

I'm a rebellion I tell you! Just like Thelma and/or Louise! I'm dangerous! I'm living on the edge! Except when it comes to expiration dates on food. And yellow lights in Los Angeles. Oh, and tap water. Bottled is better.

But I'm 95% rebellion, for sure! Now, if you'll excuse me I need to go mop the kitchen.