Bow Ties o’ the Hairs Thursday suffered bigly during the taking o’ the hairs photos. They couldn’t wait to get off my neck. My hairs mortified them both.
For the first photo, Suzanne worked her fingers to the bone trying to give me a serious ‘do. As you can observe, her efforts were fruitless. I agreed to let her quit as my hair stylist– after she begged me not to ask her to do my hairdos ever again. While attempting to fix my hairs last night, she reached her limit. She says it’s bad enough she has to look at my stoopid hairs every day: she doesn’t want to actually try to wrangle them anymore. She’s good at building hairs into masterpieces, but my hairs are a whole different kind of beast. She is right to give up on them. I was asking way too much of her. I set her up to fail. My bad.
I selfied the second photo when I woke up this morning. In the pic, my hairs are what happened when I slept on the ‘do Suzanne had created on my head. I think this look is every bit as good as the Suzanne-made monstrosity. It at least looks like my kind of fur style.
But I’m not doing away with Hairs Thursday. I’m just doing away with the idea that my mop– in its current state– can possibly be transformed into a work of beauty. It’ll be what it’ll be. And that should be both a comedy routine and a horror show.