Confession time: if I could come up with a feasible excuse for getting my hair cut every week, I would.
I love getting my hair cut. Everything about the experience (save, perhaps, the über hip music blaring through the speakers at Bang at the Verizon Center--note to management: ixnay the subscription to that one XM channel that should be called "Remember how 90s dance music was totally hot? Will it still be hot if we randomly insert more modern hits but play the songs on a three-hour loop?") is just wonderful-- from getting my fill of lovingly laid-out tabloids at the waiting benches, to the delightful shampoo and melt-me-like-butter scalp massage, to the moment where I'm delivered into the loving scissors of She-Who-Did-Not-Dis-My-Hair-When-We-First-Met.
Yes. I've had hairdressers dis my hair in what I can only think was some sort of warped attempt at helpfulness.
Happy 4:20! Happy Friday! Happy GOOD WEATHER!
And remember: we may not have known what a Hokie was before last Monday, but today we are all Hokies at heart. We are with you, guys, sending you much love and thoughts of healing.