LOVE. Love for my husband. The man who you can now blame for my excessive self-portraiture and lengthy discussion of what color-adding shampoo would be best for my new hair. I'm calling the color Chocklate Chestnut.
This may come across as shallow as a pizza pan - but come on! The man got me THIS as a surprise (no, not that expression)
The HAIR, people, the hair!
Now with more sass! Seriously, y'all - if ever you should be here and need a haircut/color/whatever - go directly to Studio S, located downtown, very near Nordstrom, ask for Sara, do not pass go.
Fynn still isn't quite sure if this new, reddish-headed person who feeds him and kept him from horking all over the place today and also (stop reading now if you're eating) cleaned the runny poo from his feet and tail yesterday. I tried to tell him this is what happens when he attempts to eat thick, elastic hair-ties at five in the morning. Miraculously, I managed to both identify the sound of furry lips and tiny fangs hitting the metal clasp area and stick my finger down his throat and hook it before he actually swallowed it. Between the attempted eating of weird things (flea comb, basket, earrings, tampons, hair ties, chopsticks, Q-tips, my toes) and the fact that he actually ran up and went "Grrrrowrrrrrrooowwlllll" when a friend knocked on our door the other day... I think he may be a distant feline relation of
Want to know the worst part? I was so tired that after I removed the hair tie from his trachea, I put it...this is seriously gross...under....my....pillow. Sleep on THAT, will ya?