Remember that time when I went to Europe with my 14 year old daughter and promised to blog about it but instead of filling my blog with amusing and interesting anecdotes about how an ape sat on my head and tried to rape my face, or how I almost fell off a camel or how my plane almost fell from the sky and the cabin crew yelled at me because I was exiting our plane too slowly as it was on fire, I just didn't write anything at all?
Those were good times.
Turns out being an official world traveler rather kicked my aging arse. A little thing like jet lag and breathing in recycled airplane air for 24 hours led to my body being held hostage by a vicious army of germs determined to maim me.
And then there is the wee small thing of spending every. single. day. since my return at the hospital because Jumbster had a rather serious accident as I was flying home from Barcelona.
But all of that is a story for tomorrow.
Today I thought I'd share something else with you. Mostly because I'm pressed for time because I have to take the Jumbster back in so more of his skin can be peeled off.
How I wish I was exaggerating.
Remember all those times I
whine write about needing to do something different with my hair and then never really doing anything different with my hair at all?
Ya. Well this wasn't one of those times.
This was me 10 days ago.
This was me a few days ago.
This was me. Yesterday.
Turns out making hair care decisions when you are jetlagged and deliriously ill is surprisingly easy. All you have to do is sit in your hair stylist's chair and tell her to do whatever the heck she wants.
"Just make me pretty."
You know what's fun? Not telling your husband you just killed your natural blonde hair, the colour he adored and loved and possibly treasured and then texting him a picture of your new auburn locks without any warning.
Also fun? Hearing him hyperventilate on the phone and then try and cover his shock (and possibly horror) by telling you it looks fine. He still loves me. Even as he sounds like he's about to yak on the other end of the phone.
So, do me a solid and tell me what you think of it, because my husband is too busy rocking back and forth in a dark corner, weeping over photos of when I was a blonde to be of any use to my ego.
Next up? I'm totally working up the courage for a pixie cut. Just don't tell my husband. Heh.