A thin pocketbook and temperatures surpassing a blistering 100 degrees recently gave me way too much time to sit and stew about my life and how I got "here" and how it isn't at all what I had planned or expected and how I desperately needed a haircut.
So, on Friday afternoon, about two hours before I was scheduled for said haircut, I decided to make a change, to do something unexpected and bold, something a little crazy. While the cliché remedies for a mid-life crisis are sports cars and affairs, I already drive a sports car and I have no one to cheat on, so I got a different kind of wild hair up my ass - a pink one:
I called my stylist, told her what I wanted to do and BAM! by eight o'clock that night my hair had been cut and my bangs had been pinked. And I gotta tell ya, I feel much better. I've got my sass back, my edge, my joie de vivre, if you will. I don't care if it's too hot to go outside, I've got pink hair, suckas.
