Denise, Follicle Artiste, got out her myriad foils last night and with the help of her assistant they conspired to make me look like I had one serious tin foil Crazy Hat. I mean, I could have gotten HBO with that getup.

My scalp burned pretty seriously during the 35 minutes I sat pretending to read my book. I considered calling Denise over to tell her I couldn't take it anymore, but then I figured I just had to suck it up and suffer for her art. Then it occurred to me that when the foils came out, so might my beautiful locks. Then I assumed I was just being paranoid and told myself to shut the hell up. By the time I was done berating myself, ding! the timer went off and I was treated to a lovely rough shampoo for my troubles. Mmmmmm!

Now, my hair looks like something akin to Tiger Tail ice cream. It's four colours all swirled around with the base colour of Arterial Blood Red. Thank heavens I have a black towel in the linen closet for just this sort of thing. I still think back to the towel catastrophe of NYC in March when I handed the housekeeeping staff a towel that looked as though the staff of CSI needed to be called in.

So now, I'm almost ready for my trek south. Passport, digicam, hair, Clodhoppers, Bubba the Canadian Beaver Mascot. I just need an outfit, one that emphasizes my boobs and doesn't pay any attention to the blob directly below said boobies. Any help with that assignment would be greatly appreciated.

Posted at 1:56 p.m.