Don’t cut your bangs just before you go to bed.

Especially after a slogging, stupid, head-banging (no pun intended) sort of day. One of those days that are so frustrating that I’m convinced that if I just keep driving around, looking for another parking spot, I can find one that doesn’t cost 25 cents for 10 measly minutes.

So, I find a spot — finally — wade thru the rasty snow, check the meter, wade back to the car in disgust and start the searching process all over again.  I did that 3 times yesterday before accepting that that’s the way it is and that my life was worth more than $3.

It didn’t stop me from cutting my bangs last night though.  They look like I was driven to accomplish something — please-o-please-anything — before surrendering.

They aren’t a total massacre.  I can go out in public without a hat.  They’re just a wee bit shorter than I like.  But, they also remind me to have a sense of humor.

I had a crappy sense of humor yesterday.  As a result, my feelings got hurt easily.  I despised my sense of futility.  I felt like my own worst enemy.

Today, I have short bangs.  And, they’re funny.

Significantly,

Susan Scot Fry

Update….

Apparently, a sense of humor also helps in my quest to talk to strangers.  I’ve got my sleuthing hat on (figuratively – wouldn’t want to cover up this hair!) but I’m not the very best at approaching and initiating conversation with people.  It’s what I’ve got to do to find out what I need to know right now, though.  It’s either that or indulge in awkwardly constructed sentences.