I love my hairdresser!

I must have an amazing haircut! I am no good judge of how I look, because I always think I look horrible. I used to spend several minutes (well, maybe 5) on my hair, with mousse, blow-drying it and trying to get it to look like it has some body, then spraying it in place so that it continues to look like it has some body for a few hours. Well, since we now have 85 chickens and 4 dogs, and usually have to leave by 10 in the morning, I really haven't had much time to fiddle with my hair. So lately I have been doing more of the "I'm-in-a-hurry-abbreviated version." Which is 1) jump out of the shower, 2) towel dry, 3) run a comb through it, 4) put a dab of maximum-hold gel in it, and 5) run my fingers through it, letting it dry through the day.

Now, the coup-de-grace! I walked into a starbucks the other day, passing the counter, noting that there were two young women at the pick-up-drinks counter. After we made our orders, we went to the counter where they were standing, and they stopped me (me!) and said, "We wanted to tell you that we love your hair." I responded with, "Do I know you from somewhere?" trying to check to see if they were friends just trying to make me feel better (like everyone else). "Oh, no," they responded, "we just think you hair is just perfect, you know, the way it frames your face and all." Now, remember, I am 20 lbs. overweight, and am wearing NO makeup. I stammered a "Thank you" and went on my way. All I can say is, "I love you; you put the GOD in Godfrey! My miracle-working hairdresser! A cut makes all the difference!" At 60 years old, my time has come!