Years ago my fashionista friend remarked that the higher a woman's hair, the greater her depression. So, so true. As proof I give you Marge Simpson....
take a look at that hair! Obviously she is in serious need of an intervention - both follically and mentally...with hair that high she probably needs a VAT of lithium...and yet, she seems normal - but of course, she is not...not with THAT HAIR!
Well, today....18 hours into what is sure to be a 192 hour depressive event, my hair is the size of Marge Simpson's. Maybe higher. My depression is that great....
As you know, my oven died last week. I've been ONE FULL WEEK without an oven. Yesterday the repairman, aka Tony-Soprano-Meets-George-Carlin, came to perform, and I use that word loosely, a miracle on my oven. With his quick one-liners and his bada-bing zings, he pronounced that my oven was NOT dead....just comatose. This guy was something else - he spit out jokes faster than Rodney Dangerfield - talked about everything from his bad investment in SOIL FUTURES to his 2nd divorce - barely mentioning my oven. I tried to bring him around to it but was hardly able to get in a single word. After an hour that seemed like a ride on the root canal express he said it needed a new motherboard...to the tune of $480...handed me a bill for the service call - another $70 and then, with one more feeble attempt at witticism, something about his 1989 Dodge Shadow...which on ANY stage would not be funny...he FINALLY left! I took a comb to my hair immediately. The new motherboard won't be in until May 7th...8 more days without baking....8 more days of pining for cinnamon rolls, hummingbird cake, Dutch apple pie...8 more days of teasing and ratting my hair to new heights, running the risk of HHDA....Hair Height Depression Alopecia.
