Some things about me you can't tell from this blog. One of them is that I have crazy hair. If left to its own devices, it would stage a takeover of the free world -- it's that crazy. I have a serious gel habit. I have put lanolin on my hair because I was so sick of the frizz. But in July I set aside my book snobbery long enough to buy a copy of Curly Girl, and I've been happier with my hair ever since. This is me on my birthday, mostly frizz-free:
Today I was planning to run for the first time in a while (actually, since right before all that CPS garbage started), so I didn't take a shower this morning. My attempt at a run was abortive: one ankle was complaining loudly about carting 17 extra pounds around, and then my round ligament started aching. I didn't get very far. Still unshowered, I went to pick up Pete from preschool. He and I and my hellbent-on-hegemony hair (it's been rainy in the Midwest and my hair gets huge in the rain) went to the new natural foods store in town.
Pete had a lot of fun scooping rolled oats and flaxmeal out of their bins and into our bags. We browsed through the aisles, and I was just about to head for the register when a woman approached me. "Would you be willing to be in a commercial for the new store?" she asked me.
I agreed. We cruised the cereal aisle for the camera, talking about the options and chucking one box in the cart. I signed a waiver allowing them to use the footage. We left the store and I realized I had just given permission for them to put me on television with hair that looked kind of like this.
Oops.
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