|It was fun while you lasted. I'm sorry I fried you with a 25-year-old curling iron.|
I'm sorry the time has come to pass. You have spent the last month with me and it truly was a pleasure having you in my hair. Except for the little snafu when you came out while we were in Austin, you held up surprisingly well.
I'm not sure what I was thinking that day when I got my hair cut. I think I'm having an age crisis where I don't want to admit I'm
But the trouble came quickly when I realized that you did not match my hair texture at all. Suddenly, I was required to spend more than five minutes on my hair. I either had to curl you or straighten you. There was no in-between. I even had to dig out my curling iron, which my grandmother bought in 1983 at Service Merchandise. (I know this because the case still had the receipt in it.) Needless to say, after a few weeks you started to look ragged. And really, not too many people had noticed that I had you in.
So it's time to say good-bye. I'm sure I'll keep you in a drawer until the next time I feel sassy. Until then, thanks for the memories. (Of which I only have one crappy photo...and when three had come out and I just had one left. *sigh*)
Next time I'm feeling sassy, I think I'll stick to hot-pink shoes instead of hair extensions...