I got a wild hair up my you-know-what on Saturday and decided I'd go and get my hair chopped off. I say "chopped off" because that's what it ended up being. I am so miserable right now. She completely butchered me and I am inclined to buy a big floppy hat this evening and tell my boss I accidently fell under a lawnmower over the weekend. If I had cut it myself with a Flowbee I could not have done any worse..I swear.

I have no idea what the stylist was thinking when I was very clear on what I wanted. She cut off at least 3 more inches than necessary and now I look like my mother. Not that my mother looks bad necessarily but.... I digress.

It's uncanny how tightly we are tied to our personal image via our haircut or style. If we get a great cut we feel sassy, sexy and confident. With a bad one however, we want to crawl under the biggest rock available and remain there for as long as it takes for the mess to grow back. Which is where I am right now. I am on a recon mission for the biggest rock in the neighborhood.

If that fails I will have to resign to playing the Bangles all day tomorrow as it defininitely will be "Just another Manic Monday".

On a side note with the manic Monday theme - my brother left me a message that he safely arrived back home but US Airways had summarily lost all of his luggage. So maybe I should shut up about my bad hair cut....