So… I have no hair on my head.
As much as I love a dramatic hair moment, this wasn’t the plan. My barber sliced his hand open, leaving me the wolves the week of my birthday. With an event to attend and a determination to end year 43 with a clean line-up, I took a chance.
Note to self: stick to barbers for whom English is a first language.
With a few days, some strategic brushing, and playing with eye makeup, I’m in a good place. Dare I say, a bit regal.
I’m taking it as a sign from the Universe. Perhaps it’s time to embrace change.
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