Monday, November 27, 2006

I hate my hair.

My hair has become such an uncontrolable mess that every morning someone at work asks me if I've done something new with it. "No," I reply. "I just washed it." Or, "It's slept on." Or, "The two-block walk from the bus stop to our office was really windy."

Oh, if only I didn't have issues with A. Haircuts, B. Calling to make a haircut appointment, C. Calling strangers on the phone, and D. Paying more than fifteen dollars for a haircut. I wouldn't have these problems if I could afford therapy.

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