My hair this morning:
How many photos I had to take before I got one that was an acceptable level of hideousness: 12. This one actually makes me look good.
Look at the gravity-defying hair! It leads your eye toward the stencilling on the soffit. The sheet crease on my cheek vanished after a few minutes vertical. Even after that, I still looked bad.
But I was strong! Because I had hope! Because I was going to the spa with the red-headed Catherine in the evening! And I had a variety of painful procedures scheduled. (And before you even ask: yes. Later.)
One of the non-invasive procedures was an eyelash perm and tint, because when one wakes up looking WORSE than the photo above would suggest, a girl needs her eyelashes to carry a lot of weight.
Its just what you'd think: your eyelashes are rolled, I swear, on little perm rods, and then tinted black.
And, in effect, you feel oh so pretty because you gave someone, ANYONE, ANY AMOUNT OF MONEY TO IMPROVE ANYTHING PLEASE GOD ANYTHING.
So, Gary gets to wake up tomorrow to this hawtness: