I'm normally a cautious driver, but suddenly I was doing 90, darting in and out of traffic, honking impatiently at blue hairs and, most troubling, smiling smugly at my fellow sports car driving motorists.
I still hold out hope that one day I'll wake up a completely different person -- one who prefers Capri pants to sweats and who summers at a beachfront cottage on some sort of cape with several other witty and charming couples.
Imagine taking a cotton ball and stretching it out until it was kind of flat and rectangular and then imagine if it were black and giant and protruding from the back of my head. That's what my hair looked like. And it took me hours to achieve that look.
The appropriate reaction to mercury rising is dread and anxiety. The weather is not your friend, or if it is, it's that friend that "accidentally" tells everyone your most unflattering secrets. In this case: flabby arms.