Body Language and Bad Hair

 It's subtle, but I'm guessing Evelyn didn't want her picture taken. These are still from our July Ocean City trip. I've not gotten the pictures off the camera in a while (I can never remember if taking the pictures off the camera and putting them on the computer is downloading or uploading.)

At the time of this picture, I still had long, straggly hair. I am constantly living under the delusion that I can have movie star hair with no maintenance, no fancy hair products, no stylist, and for that matter, no style.

I ended up cutting my own hair. In a hotel room. In Buffalo. Late at night. Sounds like a scene from a Bourne movie, doesn't it? I drove home to Baltimore where, in my dimly-lit bathroom again late at night, I tried to fix what I'd done to myself in Buffalo. (You can glimpse the Buffalo version of the cut in the post below.) Then, in a moment of last-minute desperation to look decent for something I can't even recall, I made the knee-jerk decision that a place called "The Hairport" that accepted walk-ins and was completely devoid of patrons would be the perfect place to recapture that movie-star look.

At least my hair's not long and straggly anymore. :)