Stupid Nine O'clock Hair

My family came to visit this past weekend, and we had a good time. And they helped me realize something: I like where I am right now. I like being young and single. I can do what I want when I want, and I don’t have to ask permission or worry about how someone else will feel about my choices. I can travel on the weekends or stay in bed all day–it’s completely up to me. I don't have to worry about consulting someone on which job to take or how late to work or where to live. And I like to have choices. (I think that’s one of the reasons that I dislike commitment so much.)

I mean, I had cheese and crackers for dinner tonight. Last night I had cheddar scrambled eggs and a huge bowl of Blue Bell ice cream. What can I say? It just sounded good. . .and I don’t have to worry about what anybody else wants. It’s a beautiful thing.

The only time I dislike being single, though, is around nine p.m. on weeknights. It’s about this time that I know I’m not going out again, and yet I look good. Most of the heavy makeup and lipstick of the day has worn off, I’m in my pajama pants and tank top, and my hair looks really good. What can I say? I have nine o’clock hair. And I admit, I wish there was a boy to appreciate it. Roommates just don't appreciate nine o’clock hair like they should. (Although I am glad that there’s not a boy around to see me embarrassing myself doing Yoga Booty Ballet.)