Curly Top

This week I got a perm for my long, luscious, femmy locks. No, not like the "curly top" to the right. (Although this may come in handy when we drive to Washington next week.) No, more ringlets than wool for my head.

Being of Scandinavian, Romanian, English lineage, I seem to have inherited a fine, but dark blond hair. (I actually think it's brown, but Kandy says it's blond. Okay. What-ever! Blond it is. ) Well, unfortunately, my hair insists on limpness and lying flat to my scalp. Every morning I have to coax it and curl it with curling iron and gel and what-have-you to get any sort of "body" out of it.

"Enough!" says me to myself in the foggy bathroom mirror (better to not see myself too well).

"Enough! Get thee to Jamie the Lovely Hair Stylist!"

So, Tuesday lunch time comes around and I'm off to let Jamie work her magic. There is a special place in heaven for these souls of scissors and rollers and color. I'm sure of it.

Two hours later I am a new woman. My hair is light and breath-taking. The sun gleams off glistening curls.

No one recognizes me.

::sigh::