Dear Kid,

Angelo cuts hair.
In an unusual twist of social norms, the men in our family get their hair cut far more often than the women. You and Dad get shorn regularly, while Pi and just (mostly) let the dang stuff grow.

Yesterday was our more-or-less annual We’d Best At Least Get a Trim Day.

While Pi went off to get her hair trimmed and gorgeoused (yes, I just made that a word), Angelo and I settled down for a great chat (right up to when I learned he has waaaaay more shoes than I do and “great chat” turned to awe) and to “do something about” the mess of a mane I wear.

You’ll be glad to know I did not dye my hair violet (the girl [word chosen with care and accuracy] next to Pi was having her hair dyed violet (died violet?) for her wedding in two weeks), but I do look much more like someone who pays attention to what her hair is supposed to look like. We’ll see what happens when I try to tend to it myself without Angelo to use umpteen products, a blow dryer, a straight iron, and a bit of magic.

Angelo and I solved most of the world’s problems during our visit. The world is ignoring most of our solutions, but you can’t have everything.

Because I was on my semi-annual oddessy of Attacking Problems I Prefer to Ignore, I spent the rest of the day working on the chaos I call my closet. I have by no means finished the project, but I did discover a pair of boots I’ve been looking for and I’ve started a pile of Things I Am Never Going to Wear Again (partly because they don’t go with my new hair and partly because I hate them). In a little while I will dive back in (leaving directions with Dad and the Puppy to rescue me if they don’t hear from me by dinner time).

Hope you are tackling big projects (like finals) with equal success this weekend.

Love, Mom