The History of My Hair
Wednesday September 15, 2004: Despite the fact that my husband claimed my hair was sexy — “You know, in a European way” — it had been a year since I decided it might be fun to painstakingly maintain the look of a horribly botched haircut, and I needed a change. Then, to make a boring process slightly more narcissistic, I invited the entire Internet to share the stultifying process as I grew it all out. I actually looked okay for a while, and then I started to look like David Cassidy, so on Day Ninety-six I caved and cut it short again. Thus, Simba, the circle of life goes on*.
*Simba is my hairdresser’s name.**
**Not really. I’m a compulsive liar.