i’ll be in your eighties cover band, sure.

Some mornings are more glorious than others.

They all start the same way, mostly.

I generally get so hungry that I am reduced to opening my eyes. Nice and slow. Maybe even one at a time.

But about being hungry–every morning I wake up to a belly that acts like I’ve never put anything in it for the entirety of its existence. And believe me, this is not true. So I’m all, Listen, belly. I got up in the middle of the night, not even five hours ago, in order to creep up to the kitchen and eat; can’t you at least act grateful? But it’s all, WAAaaaaaaaaa!!!! and my reasoning is completely lost on it until I eat some cereal.

But before I get to the cereal part, I blearily walk to the bathroom and attend to business.

But sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and bam! I see my hair.

And it looks like I was visited in the night by The Hair Fairy, who is maybe The Milk Fairy’s second cousin once removed, but was definitely a stylist on the set of The Wedding Singer.  And she comes in with her curling iron, her hairspray, and her wrists that can tease hair a hundred strokes a minute.

And by the time I get up in the morning, I look like this.
And oh, baby, those bangs. So I document it, because–well, look at it. Flock of Seagulls should totally ask me to do their reunion tour. I can play keys, guys. And I can harmonize to whatever you throw my way. Oh, and I have a little treewood guitar, but please don’t ask me to use a pick. I’ll make up for the lack of a pick with my bangs, though, promise.

But then it gets better.

Cause I decide to run my hands through my hair, embellishing The Hair Fairy’s work just a bit, and I get this.

And as you can see, it makes me totally happy.
I’m so in with Flock of Seagulls.