Long hair, no style, not often seen outside of a ponytail. Hm, blah, there's only so many hours an unemployed girl can spend trimming off each split end one by Days of Our Lives in the background one. So I found a Very Inspirational Photo of an Olsen twin (I'm thinking it's Mary-Kate although I fancy myself more of an Ashley) and brought it to my friendly neighborhood hair stylist. Am I a dead ringer for the long-lost third twin (also known as a triplet), or what?
Admittedly I was a little sheepish pointing at this unidentified Olsen and saying I want to look like her seeing as how a few years, some el-bee's and millions of dollars separate us. But whatever. Sitting next to me was an old lady wearing a hospital oxygen mask. Her stylist had to cut around and under the surgical tubing over her ears, so I figured I was a real peach in comparison. Apparently the third Olsen twin (er, triplet) is a bit of a saucepot, because check me out post-do:
Rockin' the layers with my arms stretched out. Come hither without anyone to hither fro. Because here's the thing: Bryan is at dinner with an old friend tonight. None of my friends were available to play. So I picked up Zoey at her grandmother's house and we came home and made mac and cheese, the forced air from the microwave tussling my professionally blow-dried hair just so. And I got a little sad. Anxious. This good hair day wasted on the It's-It I'm about to eat. So yes, here, please: tomorrow I shower, but tonight is a night of one lone tree falling in the woods. Listen up.