Obsessive? Yes.

If you ask any of my friends what part of my physical being I'm most anal about, there would be NO QUESTIONS. You would always get one consistent answer – the hair on my fat-cheeked head. And you know what? I'm okay with that. I have worked really hard over the last 10 years to scare the gray peons back into the inside of my scalp versus allowing them to play on the outside. Except that CPS called and said that I can't keep anything locked up inside my head house anymore. They have to be free. Fine. I just costume them in outfits that look much like the rest of the outside scenery. It's like follicle camoflage.

I have several women, who I see on a regular basis, who insist on leaving their house with wet, stringy, unkempt hair. Not just 'kind of' wet, but all-the-way, all-my-towels-are-in-the-wash, I-tried-to-drink-out-of-the-water-hose wet.

I can't, for the LIFE of me, understand how a grown woman – one who wants to get laid (I assume) – would get up in the morning and never once entertain the company of a blow dryer or flat iron. I understand a lack of styling, a lack of makeup, and even a lack of underwear, but I just don't get how wet hair makes you feel as if you are "put together" when you get in your car to travel to someplace where other people are.

There are many women, my mother and sister included, who don't use a blow dryer at all. That is totally fine with me, because they wait to exit their homes until they don't look like they just walked through a hurricane.

I know that I'm odd – that I'm one of those freakishly obsessive women who actually care about the fact that they might see Kevin Bacon at the coffee shop in downtown Chattanooga. Regardless, sopping, wet hair just isn't pretty. It makes you look like you said, "you know, I really wish everyday could be a 'just got out of the ocean' look kinda day." Keep it up and you'll soon be wearing your slippers to the office.








Oh shit, I know women like that too.