A much better picture

Ok, the dress was still hideous, but I had supermodel hair.

I made a deal with the Devil in high school. I distinctly remember saying, "I don't understand why I have to get zits now. I'd rather get them when I'm, like, 30, and it doesn't matter."

Anyone who knew me then and has seen me lately knows that the prophecy has been fulfilled.

Note to my 17 year old self - it still matters when you're 30!!!!

Narg.

It's only 9:30 am and I've already vacuumed the whole downstairs (because Lucy stepped on a little piece of glass from a wine glass I broke two weeks ago, even though we've been running around barefoot in the house ever since. She's just lucky, I guess), and picked up a dead bird in the yard (eeeww... thanks kitty). Lucy and Jane are outside with the kids, and I'm going to run upstairs, sneak a shower, and see if I can make any progress on the Mountain of Laundry that I need to fold and put away before the natives get restless again.

I lead such a thrilling life.

I promise I'll quit with the vintage photos, now. But Mom sent that one last night, and I had to redeem the awful official dance picture of me in that same dress. I think it has inspired me to grow my hair out again. I have fantastic hair, when I remember not to mess with it. Note to self: no dye, no highlights, and dear God in heaven - no perms. Thou. Shalt. Not. Besides, it's a lot cooler in the summer to be able to put it into a pony tail or braid than it is to have this mid-length hair that I can't pull back.

BJ will be pleased. He likes my hair best when it's long. I think it speaks to his inner caveman... It's much easier to drag someone back to the cave when her hair is long.

Ok, seriously, time for me to go clean the cave. Ugh.