It's been in the upper 80's and 90's here for a week or so. When it hasn't been that warm outside, and even when it has, you have to swim through the air due to the excessive humidity.
In short, it's been our own little piece of what it feels like to be boiled alive.
The asthma, God bless the horse it rode in on, has decided to kick up again. Never mind the shots I get every other week of the miracle drug that usually keeps me on track. This weather is playing hardball. It's kickin' my butt and takin' my name.
Along with the excessive heat came this obsession with my hair.
Now y'all know I NEVER obsess about my hair. It's always just the right style, just the right length, the bangs are always just so, and I never have a problem with my Most Excellent Hairdresser about how to cut it.
So when I went in last week and told her I wanted something different than the style I'd had for the last six months, she varied the style somewhat by doing a razor cut and making it a little shorter than usual. Of course, being as I'm blind as the proverbial bat without my glasses, and she had it dried before I put them on, I really didn't get a chance to OK it before it was all said and done. I just thought I'd go home, take a shower, wash it, style it MY way and see how it fell out.
I did all of the above, but somehow or another it just wouldn't lay right for me. It stuck out on the upper right side of my head but lay flat, RIGHT UP NEXT TO MY EARS on the lower sides. I couldn't stick the ear flaps behind my ears because they were too short. When I let them fall the way they wanted to I looked like I had donned a winter hat of some sort. I just didn't like it, not one little bit.
But I tried.
I tried to like it for one solid week. I tried valiantly to like it. I washed and moussed and blew the hair dry, and still it looked Awful with a capital A.
You know how I can tell when it's really bad? When I go to work and NOT ONE PERSON says "Hey, I really like your hair...did you get it cut?" even though I've had the same style for months.
It was really bad this time. Crows would not even nest in the mop that was my hair.
So as I was travelling around today I got the brilliant idea of calling my Most Excellent Hairdresser to see if she was in, and offered her cash money to change the "do" yet again. She got me in right away. Seems someone that had an appointment had the audacity to have a baby and did not call to cancel.
She took a look at me and agreed this was not the most flattering style ever perpetrated by her hand, and re-cut it for free. Only now, since there wasn't that much hair there and since my ears were suffering from claustrophobia in a big way, I have opted for a much shorter hairstyle. One that is much easier to care for, and one that I really like.
Unfortunately, Hubster is not so fond of it.
"Why'd you get your hair cut like a BOY?" was the first thing he asked when he saw me. "I certainly don't care for THAT."
Always the soul of tact, that man.
However, he'll get used to it, as he has every hairstyle that's come down the pike these past nineteen plus years.
He's just jealous that I have more hair than he does.