Do Blonds Have More Fun?

I spent 2 hours at the hair salon today, much too long but my 'do needed serious help. Basically, I looked like Little Orphan Annie, except that my hair was two-tone. First the red had to come out; then my natural color had to be added; then blond highlights went in; then about an inch of fuzz was cut off. It took forever, and I spent most of the time trying not to breathe. Not easy. The boys just came home from track practice, and Mark commented that although my hair looks better, he thought we were going to make this decision as a family. He was joking of course, referring to the fact that I let him pick out the color when I did the home dye job back in February.

Now that I have a Jamie Lee Curtis cut, we'll see if I'm offered any commercials to pitch girl yogurt. I certainly know a thing or two about gut issues thanks to my toxic chemical treatments. My gut's fine now, but I can certainly relate to out-of-whack digestive systems.

Some of you might be wondering why I'm willing to use toxic chemicals on my head after all the cancer nonsense. I do know women who went militantly gray post cancer, eschewing all things unnatural. The truth is: I'm so vain. If I only have one nasty brutish and short life to live, let me live it as a blond.

Expletive.