Sunday, October 3, 2010

Oh, The Iron(y), It Is Killing Me

This morning I had to fight with my hair a lot. It bordered on the humiliatingly tragic. Never again will I go to bed with semi damp hair.  I just knew I was going to show up at church with a look of chagrin hiding behind a pair of sunglasses and the dirty end of a mop hanging from my head. And it was raining, so the sunglasses would have been rather difficult to explain.

Suddenly, I found myself in front of the bathroom mirror with a head full of gnarliness that refused to comply with my well honed hair brushing techniques.  I didn't have time to rewash my hair, so that was out of the question.

I think a hairbrush may have expired in the fight.  It was a valiant effort though, I must say.  After about ten minutes of listening to the chickadees fight over oatmeal (please don't ask), I decided to roll into church as if all was OK in the world of tangely tresses.



It was the first time in ages that I got a compliment on my hair.

Oh, the hair curling irony.


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