Pig tales

I recently experimented with pigtails. Yes, you heard me. I'm well on the other side of thirty and now that my hair is long, I'm discovering all sorts of things I can do with it. Like make an adorable braid behind each ear. Sometimes I feel like Jonathan Winters when he played Mork and Mindy's son who aged backwards (Is it called "aging," or should it be called something like "younging"? Hmmm.). Now that I am a freelancer, I rarely reach for the clothes that used to make me feel powerful and put together. Now, I slip into flip flops and jeans before heading to the coffee shop around the corner. Is that so wrong?

Perhaps playing with my hair is just another method of procrastination. I can only brush my cat Mac Daddy so many times before he bites me.

Regardless, I think the braids are super-cute. When I was a little girl, I had long golden hair that my mom would brush into Cindy Brady sausage-curl ponytails (check out the photo). I guess it got too much to care for or I was moving into the early 1980s and the hair just didn't go with the yellow braided headband I wrapped around my forehead when I wanted to get physical, physical. The braided headband and the eighties are long gone, but I guess my childlike spirit keeps rearing its adorable head. I'll flat iron and swing my hair around when I'm attempting to catch a bartender's attention, but when I'm working or playing, I'm going to rock braids now and again. But I think I'll draw the line at the sausage curls.