As I sat in the chair I was writing this post in my head the whole time. But it didn’t have an ending. As she razored the ends of my hair (oh, I hate that feeling) I wondered if I would be writing about what a horrible mistake this was. I imagined the comments. I imagined myself wearing a toque on the set. I remembered the time I got such a bad haircut I ran home and blindly lopped off the rest of it with a pair of scissors, because even totally butchered hair would better than that.
Happily, the haircut turned out well. Now my thoughts turn to tomorrow, and more serious topics. Like, what on earth am I going to talk about?
