I Don’t Know What My Hair Does At Night.

Every morning I wake up, do a little stretch, pop my right hip – every goddamn time – and make my bed.  The latter is super important.

Then I turn around and look in the mirror and –


HAIR. So much of it. So much hair in so many different angles. My strands are not at all on the same page with each other. Whether I sleep on them bone dry, slightly damp, or completely wet, they seem to have gotten totally drunk together and I’m dealing with the hangover. If only rubbing a Big Mac and fries all over my head would sort them out.

I also happen to have two very rowdy cowlicks, that I imagine goes as such during the night:


That is a scientific cartoon, ladies and gents.

To all you people who can wake up and walk out the door without so much of a quick water pat down, I hate you with the fiery passion of Cersei Lannister during her moon blood. Now I hate you even more for making me type “moon blood.”

But it’s okay, guys. I have bangs. They are the Flintstones bandaids for hair: stylish, practical, and covers up the unwanted.

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