Beelzebub! No softball!

Alas. The Fields of Dreams are flooded. The softball playoffs have been called off.

I'm meeting with GI Joe this evening in Pennsylvania, but suddenly I have a day to kill.

But here's an interesting turn of events. I jumped onto WorldLeathermen, and a guy I had sent a message to yesterday had replied and said that he had seen me around, and we oughta meet up sometime. Agreed, I replied, and sent my phone number. Seemingly instantaneously, my phone rang, we talked, found that our lives were interconnected in interesting ways (his best friend stood in opposition to me becoming director of the non-profit agency I ran for five years; nothing personal, just business), and now we're meeting up for brunch.

Cool.

Oh. My hair is as long as it's been in years. GI Joe requested that I not shave. I assume, of course, that he's planning on shaving me. Having all this hair (an eighth of an inch maybe?) is driving me nuts. At the risk of tipping him off, if he really wanted to be sadistic, he'd not shave me. For now, I'm off to brunch, then to the gym, and my hat won't be coming off at any point during that time.

And this hair thing couldn't come at a worst time. I just discovered how to get a shine! I've always aspired to a shiny head. I think that's totally hot. I'd grind my Braun razor into my head trying to get rid of any trace of stubble. Then, the manager and statistician on my softball team said, "Y'know what you ought to do? Rub in a little olive oil. That would be good for your scalp."

And, I thought, give me a shine.

Boy does it ever. Call me Shine Head. "Would you mine stepping over there? I'm trying to read this paper but I can't see because of the glare coming off your head, Sir." Ah well. Tomorrow, I'll have my shine back.

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