Monday, December 20, 2004

Gimme a girl with hair. Long beautiful hair.

It's less than 30 minutes until I start my last exam. I don't know how well I'm going to do; I feel that I know the stuff well enough, but honestly, my brain hasn't been working as well as I'd like it to. So, suffice it to say that I'll be happy at 4:00 when I'm done. And my house really needs the attention. I'm living in a sty that is worthy of my younger brother.

Also, get to start the Christmas baking frenzy tonight, as well as give my parents a call and talk to my Grandma. She's coming in from Montreal today, and I'm thinking she's not going to be too impressed with the snow that decided to come in last night.

My grandmother is very cool; she's Scottish, opinionated, and a little self-centered, so it makes for a good time when we're put together. I'm afraid of what she's going to do with my brothers and I when she sees our collection of hairstyles. When my father visited her in 1975, the first visit back after moving to Alberta, he sported a pretty fancy afro, something that the littlest brother was lucky enough to re-create twenty years later. Anyhow, when she saw him at the airport, she was curt and grumpy, and said one of the most memorable lines of my family's history: "Lloyd, tell your son that I am NOT speaking to him until he combs his hair." She wouldn't even let him accompany her to the bank!

I have the shortest hair of the three brothers, at ten inches. Grandma's going to have a fit.

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