Wonderturtle and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Hair
I have never left the hair salon pleased with the way I look.
The cut is usually fine. Since I've given up the belief that a bargain is worth it in all
aspects of my life, it's rare to get an actual bad haircut.
But why must they tease and poof me out until I look like a middle-aged woman from the 1980s? I smile weakly, pay quickly, tip grudgingly, and scoot out to the car where I can pull down that rearview mirror, flip my head upside down and run my fingers through my hair until it looks semi-me.
At least today she asked
if I wanted hairspray.