Yes, I am pouting in that photo. Yes, I know I do not look sultry. Yes, I am five years old. No, wait…

WHEN I WAS FIVE MY HAIR WAS DOWN TO MY ASS.

Ahem.

She put it in a ponytail to cut it, and as soon as she went SNIP, my insides went, “Oh, dear.” It’s a LOT shorter than I intended.

By whole INCHES.

But you can’t glue it back on, unless you’re Jessica Simpson or Britney Spears.

Some “attempting to be cheery about it” photos:

There. A lot of hair. Gone. Whoa.

I keep changing the pictures here, trying to get used to it.

Soon.

How is everyone?

I’m crunchy for time today, but I’ll post lavishly this evening, promise.

AND! I’m getting a haircut in 3 hours. A major one. Stay tuned.

Oh, and there’s this, too. But I promise not to flail around about it this time.

(Thanks for the reminder, Monty. Who you should nominate, by the way.)

I have not had a good peach in years.

When I see soldiers on television, I cry.

Licorice tastes best at the movies.

Before long, the fire always gets too hot in the living room. So I open the deck door, and then it gets too cold. Then I have to turn the fire on again. I suppose the constant work of regulating the temperature makes me feel in control.

Taking the Christmas tree down is always sad. I wonder if there’s a way to make it seem celebratory.

I’ve never understood marmalade.

Candles that are supposed to smell like pear never do.

Horses always want to bite me. But I get along fine with asses.

If things that were supposed to taste like watermelon actually captured that crisp sweetness, they would never stay on the shelves. Watermelon is like childhood with a rind.

I always forget to frame my pictures.

I get excited when I think I might see real penguins. But it hasn’t happened yet.

Things that are labeled “science fiction” and “fantasy” always leave me rather dry. Not that I don’t embrace fantasy. Just not the kind with glossy covers and odd creatures with lots of “X”s in their names.

I’m losing the ability to match other peoples’ moods as I get older. Well, maybe not the ability. Just the desire.

Peonies are never in season long enough.

Sometimes, all you really want is macaroni and cheese. I’ve never made it from scratch. But I will. And y’all better like it.