I promise that I have friends.
Well, maybe five but I think I lost about three with this exchange.
As in, it’s not waist-length anymore.
As in, I’m going to have to put some effort into it if I want it to look right.
As in, it has a purpose, and layers, and more than the usual “just cut about an inch, and straight across, please.”
As in, I can’t hide in my hair anymore.
I didn’t go into heart attack mode, either.
I completely trust the person who cut my hair. Even if she didn’t absolutely love me (and I’m 98% certain that she does), I’m confident that she’s neurotic enough not to let a bad haircut slip out her door.
Or, maybe the confidence is just from the glass of Shiraz that she fed to me when she was cutting?
*crunch*
“Did your sandwich just make that crunching noise?”
“Yep!”
“What’s in there?”
“Doritos.”
*cruuuuuuuuuuuunch*
“Did you just smash your sandwich?”
“Yep!”
“Why?”
“I love the sound that it makes and it’s easier to eat this way.”
“Um, Marisa, you’re in your 30s.”
Her: Aw, your boyfriend bought you flowers.
Me: It was super sweet of him, especially since I wrote “Flowers (pretty ones)” on the grocery list.
the Children’s Protective Services agent replies to my kids’ question as she leads them away from my home.
As you can imagine, this makes me super duper sad and so I wake up and am in tears over losing a kid who doesn’t exist and an addiction that will probably never happen.
I can’t deny that the Soma/Darvocet combination that Dr. Crazy prescribed for my severe neck pain makes me feel so stoned that I wonder what life would be like if I could stay that way forever. Then I remember that if I want to mute the commercials on the television, I have to pick up the remote which seems to be a lot of effort, so I think about taking a nap instead and ohmygod DORITOS SOUND SO GOOD RIGHT NOW but the kitchen is too far away, so I go back to thinking about taking a nap.
This prompted me to shake off the cloudiness for a moment so that I could call my sister (Creepy, would you please press speed dial 2 for me?) and tell her to take me off of her “last minute babysitter” roster for the weekend, as I may accidentally let her kid play in the knife drawer.
The drug-induced state lasted about two days, at which point the neck pain subsided enough that I could handle not taking any potentially addictive pills.
But holysmokes, I can’t remember ever having such a relaxing, mind-numbing, sometimes-forgetting-to-breathe weekend.
Her: “You should have **** cut your hair.”
Me: “Didn’t **** give you your latest cut?”
Her: “Yep!”
Me: “Then, no thanks.”
