Hair Raising

I am becoming a Pom Pom. I am living the Hippie days all over again. Someone once told me that the quality of your hair changes every 17 years. I guess I was due for a change. I started to notice this when people complained that my hair was blocking their view when I was a passenger in their car. It seems that when they looked right, to turn, all they saw was a fluff of blond hair. So, I cut it. Pretty short. Short enough that no one liked it. I let it grow out and much to my dismay, it started to look like a perm. A very tight perm. The kind that old ladies with white hair get. I hate it. My sister has straight dark hair. I always envied her. Imagine having hair that could be put into a pony tail and swing in the wind. Not my hair. If I put it into a pony tail, I look like a cross between ball fringe and steel wool. Oh well, at least I have hair. That is more than I can say for most men.