Airports and chopped hair.

And here I am, in the Roanoke, Virginia airport. My flight leaves at 5pm and it is now 1pm. Why am I here so early? Well, Mom has to teach a couple of classes so she had to drive me up here early. Luckily, the airport has Wi-Fi internet access. I should have absolutely no problems keeping myself entertained for four more hours.

I made the mistake of having a complete stranger cut my hair the day before a major life change. She butchered it. Her idea was to do more layering so my very, very baby-fine hair would look fuller. Nice idea, in theory. My flat hair has remained just that--flat. But now it looks... ummm... ratty? It looks like a nice shirt that has been used as a chew blanket by a puppy.

Oh, and the airport lady agreed with me that my passport photo was the worst she's ever seen. She wanted to know if I'd lost weight since it was taken. Nope. Maybe five pounds, but not enough to explain why I look like a trailer park hippo in the photo. I wonder if Ripley's Believe it or Not and/or the Guinness book have openings for the world's worst passport photo. Honestly, I'm concerned that some overly-cautious security person is not going to accept it. If that happens in Europe, I'll probably have to pull a "That was me in my fat American days. Since I've been in Europe, I look and feel better" That should solve the problem while contributing to civic pride and encouraging stereo-typing of Americans. Not an ideal solution, if I am acting as an ambassador to my country, but in that situation this fat American has to watch her own ass!