Let's just say my life doesn't revolve around 3 a.m. feedings, my mans screaming, "But I own this trailer!" as he throws whiskey bottles through our corn husk drapes, and making sweet love behind Old Man Pumpernickel's marijuana patch during Sunday church services.
Thursday, September 11, 2003
I sometimes wonder if, at my age, I'm one of the last few remaining people who still style shampoo mohawks in the shower. But in my case, my short hair ends up looking like a dripping Alfalfa-inspired ice cream swirl.