I got my hair cut. Most of my hairs, in fact. (I like to call that piece “Soccer Moms Live Lives of Quiet Desperation.”)
My hair was close to halfway down my back. The lady cutting my hair was all like “Are you sure?” Um, IT’S. HAIR. Last time I checked, it grows back. I am not Samson. Everyone knows I derive all my power from my nostril hair and nobody’s touchin’ that!
Seriously, I do not get freaked out about stuff like this. My hair has been every length you can imagine, including cropped close to the skull. But pixie cuts are best left to women with cute, little heart-shaped faces.
I was like “CUT MY HAIR, WOMAN!”
My glucose tolerance tests results came back (testing for gestational diabetes). Everything’s groovy! Woo-hoo!
It’s Random Music Friday, people! Let’s all get random!