I think we - that's the royal 'we', and I don't know why I do that, being as how I am actually common as muck - have to prepare ourselves for hair loss. Quite a lot came out when I washed it this morning - not clumps, but a good plugholeful of loose strands, which reminds me, I must clean it out - and more when I combed it. Bum. I know it's not the worst thing that could happen, and intellectually I'm quite prepared for it. Emotionally, though, might turn out to be tougher than I'd've expected.
But hey. If it happens it happens, and it'll grow back. And I'm told you get a free Brazilian into the bargain, so win!
I'll be stuffed if I have to paint on eyebrows, though. Never having been a girlie-girl, I haven't a clue how to do it. The only person I know who might be able to help, um, isn't actually a girl at all. Most of the time.
(What have I said before about my life?)
The futon in my study is snoring gently. I would be quite alarmed if I didn't know the Jenny-cat was having a snooze behind it, having been out all night, evil creature.
Anyway. I went for a walk round the garden just now, because otherwise I'm cooped up indoors all day, just languishing on the sofa with no-one to fan me or feed me grapes. Our lawn is covered with toadstools.
"'ow d'you know they're toadstoools?"
"'Cos there's not mushroom inside."
Oy!
