Okay, no one calls me that.
So, I totally made my dad all verklempt with yesterday's post. Between that and the crying my mom did over Emma's video, I am two-for-two in the Plucking Parents' Heartstrings Like a Freaking Harp category.
And now, the real reason I'm here: my hair.
I've got that itch again to cut my hair. Correction: chop. Butcher. Massacre. (It is here that Fred will remind me that JUST THIS MORNING I said I was going to grow out my bangs. Yes, I'm fickle. I can accept that.)
I saw a picture today and I though -- YES! That's how I want my hair. Right. This. Minute. But then I had to go to the library and have a call for work and make some chai (nom nom) so the haircut will have to wait because now I only have three minutes until I have to catch the train.
Here's the picture:
(I found it on a lovely blog called Square Girl, while I was checking out Squarespace to see if I wanted to move over there. I know! I've only been on WordPress like four months. See? Fickle.)
You can't see much of the hair but there's a sense about it. A sense that it would look fantastic with my new cat eye-ish frames that I ordered today.
Speaking of uniform...
I'm not sure exactly what year this is... 1971? But I can say he looks exactly the same.
I love you, Papa. Thanks for riding on a big boat and telling me all about it.