So, my earlier hair disaster is starting to mend, finally.

I know, what with George Clooney being in a motorcycle accident, and Pamela Anderson remarrying, who’s had time to think about That Dan Guy’s bad haircut?

Well, soon even I won’t be fretting about it anymore. I don’t even wear a baseball cap much anymore. Mrs. That Dan Guy finds the new fuzz fuzzy and soft, unlike the couple of days of gleaming pink eggshell, back when I was first robbed of my follicles. Or the following few days after that, when stubby stubble filled in some of the empty space.

Above my scalp…

I’m still trying to figure out how a stylist can see a person come into a salon with a head of hair, and decide that a “trim” means shearing me like a highland sheep. I hope somebody out there has had a lovely sleep on their pillow made from my former (& beloved) sprigs.

One thing for sure, I won’t be asking for a bikini wax anytime soon…

Chow for now!!