A French Twist of Fate.

Last night, I saw Orphans.  The play, not the children.

It was terrific, though I am biased as my boyfriend, Alec Baldwin, was in the play.  You may have heard rumors that Alec is married to some exotic-looking bendy lady with a child on the way, but that’s just because he and I have an understanding and I could tell you about it but you probably wouldn’t get it and if you really want to know, I can send you a copy of my restraining order.

However, there was a large and rather unsightly obstacle to my (only-slightly-illegal) enjoyment of Baldwin’s performance.

hair

The Heat Miser sitting in front of me decided to pin up her hair in the shape of a voluminous haystack of bad judgement. Good work, lady.  Not everyone can pull off a look that says, “Troll Doll.”  However, while your hair was acting out its own creepy fan fiction dedication to the musical, “Annie,” I will be forced to lean into this strange, scarf-riddled woman next to me who smells oddly of SpaghettiOs and Pine Sol just to get a peek at the on-stage action.

I tried to drop some subtle hints about my viewing concerns by casually announcing that I was going to take my hair down (even though it was in a very tasteful/stylish/not-overtly-sexy-but-probably-turning-you-on-bun), but Carrot Top did not even budge.

But I suppose it’s understandable that she did not want to undo her updo, seeing as it looked so…good?

Blink. Blink.

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