My hair, after a rather unfortunate bad hair cut where I was left with dog ears - yes dog ears - blonde ones, has gotten really long. I'm about a foot short of sitting on it and about 14 inches away from looking like pants-wearing Pentecostal.
Sometimes, when one is dealing with long hair such as this - accidents happen. Brushes get snagged and are lost forever. Windows become hair guillotine. And sleeping arrangements get - hairy. (Hee hee)
Case in point: Last weekend I woke up in the wee hours of the morning and found myself pinned to the bed. Upon further, somewhat limited, inspection I discovered that my snoring hubby was using the majority of my tresses as a pillow. I was stuck.
I huffed. I puffed. I cried.
I pushed. I poked. I cried.
Finally he shifts enough in his "dead to the world" sleep stupor for me to grab my hair out from under him. I'm okay. No worse for the wear, if you don't count a bit of drool...
Flopping over, I close my eyes and will myself back to sleep. Without warning I hear a soft jingle and flinch as Phoebe lands in front of my face with a purring thump. Before I can react she has catapulted herself on to my pillow, walks in an agonizing circle before - laying down on my hair.
"STOP IT YOU TWO! QUIT GANGING UP ON ME!" I yell.
I get even, accidentally, of course, later on that week: I'm fighting the tangles in my Holly'fro with one of my "specially made for horse hair" brushes from the Salon Specialty Store. When the bright orange brush gets stuck in my locks I'm a bit frustrated. For what I paid for the damn thing it should be brushing my hair by itself! I tug on it and watch as it flies out of my hand and smacks directly into the upturned, full-of-adoration face of my kitty.
"I'm sorry!" I scoop her up and kiss her on herfluffy forehead. "Are you okay? Do you have a cat-cussion?"
She sneezes in my face in response.
I'll take that as "maybe."