Bad Hair Days

I don't know of much that disgusts as much as a bad hair day.

I can put on the cutest clothing in the whole wide world, step into the most fantastic stilettos anyone has ever seen, and spray on the Coco. I'm still going to look like shit.

Now people who see this photo are maybe going to say, "...just comb it and it'll be fine." Uh, no, it won't be fine. I have combed it. I have brushed it. I have put goop on it. I have put a hat over it. There is nothing fine about it.

The hair itself has it's moods and today is surly. It doesn't matter what I do to it, I will not be able to open the front door even to get that check from Publisher's Clearing House. My hair is not too clean or too dirty either. It just woke up this way.

On this day, my husband will come through the door after work and say "Hi Honey! You look pretty!" Is it any wonder that women stab their husbands? Is there any wonder that women sometimes hate their husbands? I think not.

Even my dogs are looking at me with a "What the F is wrong with your hair?" expression. Unconditional love? Not really, the little bastards.

I had every intention of going to the store today. I need a couple of important things and the store is one block away from my house. I took a look in the mirror and decided nothing is important enough to show off this hair to the public at large.

I hope this gets better sometime this week.