Author: Christine Elias

I’m about halfway through Dreams from My Father by Barack Obama. I have not yet started the book I should be reading for my primary book club. I always procrastinate as that reading is sometimes like homework ― it’s a class I enjoy but the required readings occasionally wear me out.

With regards to my use of primary, I do belong to a secondary book club. I’m enjoying the books we’re reading there more but it could turn at any moment.

That book club also boasts at least two published authors ― something that makes me warm inside thinking about their talent and also a little like Walter the Lazy Mouse who can’t do anything but prattle away on this thing.

I wonder: are people who belong to book clubs different from regular people? I do experience “pure joy when I’m sharing my ideas, opinions and insights with others” but I always thought this was a bit of a personality flaw. Perhaps not.

I used to wonder why I was the only person who refers to the protagonist in book club discussions. I even looked it up after one meeting to make sure I was using the word correctly. I was.

Next I plan to work in dénouement more often.

I have become reacquainted with my big round boar’s hair brush, high-end hair-fluffing lotion and blow dryer. S. my personal stylist and confidant created this new flippy style for my usually limp hair. She’s a genius. I look 10 years younger and my ears even look smaller ― it’s magic.

It looked fantastic when I left the salon and it still looks pretty good under my care.

But I’m lazy (and not a morning person) and now I have to get up 20 minutes early to whip it into shape. I’ve been doing it faithfully as it really does look fabulous ― it’s worth the effort.

Sometimes I think that all this this fuss about hair is so draining. Why must I have fun, flippy hair? Why do I need highlights and (I think) lowlights? Why can’t I just leave the house without blow drying?

These thoughts don’t last long. As soon as I see a gray hair or a limp lock I run to the magician with many types of scissors. And if I do sleep in and neglect my hair (which used to happen more often before the “flip of many minutes” as I have taken to calling it) I feel fretful about it all day.

Life is too short to fret about hair ― I’ve got eyebrows that need attention.