I have legendary bed-head. I give the Statue of Liberty's crown a run for it's money. Or a bad-tempered porcupine. Either way?
Not a good hair day.
Briskly whipping the dog, un-showered (me, not the dog), sans hat, around our good mile plus loop certainly didn't help matters. The breeze was lovely; add in working up a nice sweat, decent cardio, tackling the Big Hill?
I went from nearish a version of Something About Mary with all over head involvement, to Cruella De'Ville hit my lightening.
My big guy, nipping in as fullback these days on his football team, needed a ball to carry around, flip, toss, nearly break things in the house or nail the baby all in the name of getting ready for the next big game. We headed out to Dick's.
Where, naturally, I ran into her.
You know the one. She's that one woman in town, the one who always appears to have it all together.....whereas I dried my hair through my open window, completely eschewed make-up as 1, I've already met the man of my dreams so impressing a guy I need not, 2, I forgot face lotion so my face was itchy, and finally, mention Dick's and my son may drag me naked out the door.
She was totally put together. Sigh.
Truly, there's no confidence on the planet strong enough to withstand the pitying looks I got since I looked as though I'd styled my hair while standing on a land-mine.
From there, I nipped into Michael's, picking up safety pins for this consignment event going on, in the middle aisle of the store, the one right in the busily opening doorway, and ............
O. M. G.
The only good part about tinkling in the middle of Michael's?
Trust me when I tell you:
No one was looking at my hair.