Before y'all go wondering if I'm in jail from the confrontation with "She Who Must Not Be Named", I'm not.
My birthday started out wonderfully. Mike presented me with a card in all my morning-glory-bed-headedness, which announced that not only did I get a gift certificate to get my hair done but that my appointment was for 11:30 THAT DAY! We went to breakfast and did a little party shopping where afterward I jumped in the shower because I did not want to get my hair did in some fancy say-lon looking all homeless. About 15 minutes before my scheduled departure the dreaded doorbell rang. I opened it, told her that she had to leave now. She gave me a card and I reiterated that she had to leave and promptly shut (and locked) the door in her face. That was it, she left. I haven't opened the card and probably won't as there isn't anything she can say to make a difference. Then, I got my hair done. Three hours later I came home with the most awesome drastic swing bob with purple low-lights. Yes, I said purple!
Then it was party time! I would go into details but I don't think y'all would believe me anyway. I'll just leave it at yesterday was pronounced, Recovery Day.