Yesterday was my annual “Cut it all off” day. This happens when the weather rises above “freeze your ass off” and stays that way at least two weeks. According to my friend Lisa, this means summer has arrived. The fact that August also arrives next week is not lost on those of us who live in the Pacific Northwest. Next comes a week of “hotter than hell,” followed by two or three days of Indian Summer, then it will start to rain again. (Psst. Don’t tell. Oregonians are required to denounce our weather like that ever since Governor Tom McCall was in Oregon and encouraged people to visit but not stay.) We actually have some pretty nice weather part of the time.
Anyway, my hair is now incredibly short. I look like a fat boy with humongous man-boobs. I do this to avoid helmet hair. Not the man-boobs part, the short hair part. I have a scooter, and once it’s warm enough to ride, I have to avoid helmet hair at all costs. (Those who know me well, ie. those who sleep with me and can speak English….cats and dogs don’t count) know that my one vanity is my hair. I’d rather have none, which I pretty much do right now, than have helmet hair.
Don’t get me wrong. I love my helmet. My brain is already damaged. We’re not going there twice. I wear helmets, seat belts, and any required safety devices for any activity I’m stupid enough to engage in. I draw the line, though, at life jackets unless mandated by law. I was the first woman to win a four year letter in my high school and that giant L was for swimming. I am an excellent swimmer. And, being a fat boy with man-boobs, I float pretty well even if I don’t move any body parts at all. I have been known to run the mast of a sailboat tilted to a 30 degree angle while coming about and jump off the end into an ice cold major navigable river. I was, of course, young then. If I tried to run the mast now, the boat would tip over and sink. I’d still be able to swim though.
I’d take a picture, of the hair, not the man-boobs, if I could just find the camera. But we are in chaos again from smashing the car. Here’s what the car looks like now:
Okay, no idea where I’m going with this now. But that’s the old Prius. This is the new one:
Yes, we got another Prius. Despite it’s small size, the old one did all the right things in the wreck. It fell apart around us, sacrificing itself to protect us. The new one (a 2005) is a bit bigger but still just as well made. (Old Prii were built on a Corolla chassis, making them Corolla size. New ones have their own chassis and are bigger.)
So, if you see a fat boy with man-boobs driving a 2005 Prius which is some sort of green color, it’s probably me.