Vanity

In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.—Abraham Lincoln

Last month I gave myself an awful impulsive haircut that had really been limiting my joy, and when I got up this morning, I couldn’t stand it any longer, so I went to the mall to get it fixed.

Of course, that turned out to be the wrong thing to do, because when I finally found a place at the mall, it was absolutely, ridiculously, and outrageously expensive. Even after dutifully exploring—every place was worse than the last!

I was totally devastated.

I don’t know why they do that, personally, I think it’s just mean.

So what do I do? I eat my hair cutting money.

Well, not all of it, but I was so angry, that when I passed “Bobo’s” on my way out, I decided to eat an ice-cream in protest (…I don’t know!)

Delightfully, on the bus home, I spotted a sign on the side of the road that said “Peluquería”…well it actually said, “Paltas; Girasoles; Quesos; Miel; Peluquería”, but I was so determined to go home sporting a revolutionary new look, that I didn’t stop to think about how retarded that sounded until after I got off the bus.

Lucky for me, the place was closed; because I’m pretty sure I could’ve afforded it, and I would have probably regretted it…cheese and hair-dressing?

So, I ended up having to walk the rest of the way home, which would have been lovely if it were not for the biting cold wind.

The happy ending is that I went to town this afternoon with my dear friend Paola, and got my hair done for a nice provisioned discount price.

I look like a sheep dog, but I feel very pleased with myself.

So now, with lighter head, and freer mind, I will pack and get ready to go.

Please pray for me!