This is not an unusual sentiment for me. After all, I have so much hair I look like I should be yearning for Zion. I get whipped in the face with my own hair on a daily basis. It deters me from braving windstorms (oh, so common in Houston) and even sadder, it makes me a liability in a convertible (actually more common in Houston).
I deal with my own hair very well. I don't strangle myself in the bath tub. I don't freak out about it while I'm sleeping. I'm at peace with my hair.
So here's what happened.
I decided I was feeling kinda fluffy today, so I decided to work out in our upstairs room. I put on the Kettle Bell DVD, and laced up my sneaks real tight. I meant business. I flailed around awkwardly, yet triumphantly for about 40 minutes. I looked something like this:
Then I went down to the carpet for ab work. I was feeling victorious. And then I felt it. Fluff all over my face...My sweat was a veritable magnet for it. I wiped my face to get the fluff out of my right nostril, but I had more fluff on my hand and only made it worse! I turned red. I snorted. I coughed and sneezed. I made it five whole minutes before I cried mercy and hit the showers. And the whole time I knew who the culprit was, and it wasn't me!
It actually felt as if she had rolled around all over the floor. Since I don't have a picture of that, I have doubled this image for effect. Please imagine her shedding all of her pelt--twice--onto our carpet.
I went from a happy Reagan to an itchy, dismayed Reagan.