Da Vinci painted the wrong person...
Recently a good friend of mine offered some kind words that engorged my heart with vanity. His comment is in regards to the errant ice that maliciously attempted to destroy my hair, and thus my entire being (see Holiday Blues-12/25). I know that anthropomorphizing ice that “had it out for me” proves that I’ve soared to new heights of absurdity, but I swear, if you listened closely after the incident, Taps was tenderly echoing against the cold night.
John wrote:
I remember thinking to myself about a recent entry, "How dare that ice hit you in the face?!" as if the idea of snow hitting your hair was so outrageous on the snow's part. I'm almost disturbed at the fact of how I react when something disrupts the balance of your hair. But alas, I know that it's a work of art that's not to be tarnished.
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