Bloody hell, why am I going on about some Brit holiday? I don’t rightly know about St. John’s Eve, nor, am I going to follow up on it.
I’ve long since forgone the Sunday Paper in favor of hitting some news sites online. Just easier. After “Desert Storm II” and subsequent revelations about the BBC Online coverage, I’ve tended to not trust them as much as I used to.
This coverage of the forest fire in Arizona was bizarre. The final line in the article?
“…in Arizona, which has a hot, dry climate.”
Always state the obvious?
I was busy trying to get twigs and organic debris out of my long locks. I’ve developed a bad case of “West Texas Girl” hair. I don’t recall who it was that first pointed it out, but it’s not an original observation, although, over the years, I’ve found it has merit.
Times have changed a little, but invariably, more so in West Texas than any place else, there will female, age 15-35, with long hair, almost to her butt. About the last two inches of that hair will be this nightmare of frayed, chafed ends, splits – basically a horrid mess.
When I was showering, and I realized I wasn’t tugging on a knot in my hair, but an actual twig, I realized that I have arrived at that “West Texas” hair point. Hair’s a little bleached from too much sun, and the last couple of inches are snarly. Or gnarly, depending on how one addresses the problem. Twigs from swimming in the creek, you know.
It’s jus that haircuts scare me. You know, like emotionally scarring.