All right, well, it’s official: my hair has turned to crap again. I blame my friend Andrea, who clearly heralded its demise by pointing out how long it is. This, in turn, caused me to reflect on when I last had it cut, which, I am sure, led directly to its becoming suddenly and uncontrollably puffy and frizzy, with weird curliness around my ears. There is no hope. I will have to cut it.

But actually GETTING the haircut seems like such a drain on the emotional resources, what with the calling to schedule and the figuring out when I can go, not to mention the actually showing up and having it cut and then deciding whether to buy the product that will make my everyday hair somewhat resemble the hair I walk out of the salon with.

Andrea suggested I just have Dane cut it. I choked and spluttered and ultimately laughed, but will not be attempting that particular solution. Dane is talented at a great many things, but if cutting my hair is one of them, we are unlikely ever to discover it.

No, a haircut it will have to be. Once I psych myself up for it. You know, like in 2009.