2004-02-11

One of the janitors in the food court today interrupted my lunch to tell me how much she liked my hair. Usually any impediment to eating would be met with white-hot animosity and potential utensil stabbings, but in this instance I was pleased to let my salad languish untouched while I revealed the name of my stylist. For some reason though, the cleaning lady, who herself sported a fetching mop of roller curls, also wanted to know the �name� of my haircut. Do haircuts have names now? I feel so out of vogue. I hereby dub my style �Eustace.� It looks like a Eustace.