Listening to soft rock in the morning. Radio question of the day: 45 thousand North Americans are injured by this each year. What is it?
I don't even have a guess. I'll just have to wait and ponder and see what the answer is. Half the time I'm no longer listening when the answer is finally revealed. So you might never know the answer. 'Course if you were doing something better with your time right now, you wouldn't even know the question. So you're 50 percent ahead right now.
My hair seems life-threatening this morning. Life-threatening to folks who have to look at it, which I never do. Well, that part's a lie. Not the part in my hair. That's true enough. Well, not true as in straight. I'm not gonna be all hung up on a straight part in my hair. In fact it doesn't actually have a part. Exactly.
Where was I?
I was talkin' about something or other here. Let's s...oh yeah, the part, as in portion, of what I was sayin' that is a lie, is that I never look at my hair. I do catch glimpses now and again. That's why I know that it is in a bad stage.
Some people would argue that worrying about what your hair looks like is idiotic. Oh, wait. I am those people. Never mind.
My mother, who we called Mama, worried about her hair all the time. Mama hated windy days because her hair might get messed up. She got a perm the day before she died. She died at age 91. At the time I remember thinking how pleased she would be that she looked nice. Wouldn't want to hit the undertaker's table on a bad-hair day.
Once she introduced me to someone and she pointed out to them that my hair was whiter than hers. That Mama. Always braggin' on me.
Every now and then I wonder why I don't dye my hair. Then it hits me: "Oh that's right! I'm too lazy." You can't just dye your hair once and be done with it. You have to keep after it. Touch up the roots. Like that. Some people get their hair highlighted. But I wonder if that doesn't imply that they feel that some strands are more important than others. I don't want half-conceited hair. Don't want half-disgruntled hair either.
It's raining. Hard. Very hard. So no walk outside today. All this fret over hair just to go down to the basement and trod on the treadmill. But, see, you never know where the fashion police might be.
By a toilet. No, silly. The fashion and hair police aren't by a toilet. Might be IN the toilet, but not just hanging around a toilet.
A toilet injures 45 thousand North Americans each year. Happy to say, I've never been one of them.