I got my hair cut yesterday. As always, the poor girls had trouble trying to snap that giant, body-covering apron closed after wrapping it around my neck.
That apron and I have a checkered history. Because I radiate so much heat, I rapidly become hot once the apron is on, for it covers my entire front and part of my upper back. From afar, I look a lot like a barnacle with a meatball on its aperture. Another problem is PR-related, and I really should manage my image better: once the apron is on me, I usually sit with my hands loosely clasped together under the sheet, giving everyone the impression that I'm sporting a massive erection. Sorry, ladies.
Of course, it doesn't help matters when the cute young woman doing my hair leans in close and gives my elbow some pubic contact. The moment is dirty-good, to be sure, but I'm hard-pressed (forgive the image) to make sure that no actual erections appear on stage.
I failed to do laundry yesterday, so I'm doing it now. I was awakened after only three hours' sleep by my cell phone, which rang twice: one caller was probably my brother David, who occasionally calls me on the weekend; another call came from some mystery number.
Many thanks to Malcolm for very kindly plugging Kevin's Walk.
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