Do a breast exam. Because if you find something suspicious and hard and decidedly lumpy and it hurts like the first week of breastfeeding did, no one’s awake to talk you down from the Helena Bonham Carter Fight Club moment of thinking, “my tit is going to rot off.” Just heed my warning.
Plus, you’ll have the joy of the morning coming and the other disaster you’ve caused rearing it’s ugly head and you might be feeling like, maybe it’s something you should keep to yourself until you know what’s what.
“Oh, Zoeyjane,” you say, “you can’t keep anything to yourself!”and we giggle about how that’s in fact, true. On my blog. Moving on…also don’t decide to channel Betty Page.
(one Married with Children joke and I’ll die of embarrassment. Seriously. Not a ONE.)
When you’ve got a lot of semi-thick hair, three cowlicks and about four different textures going on (Thanks for that, Isobel).
Because you might end up looking like this after you’re done with the scissors and have taken a shower. Then you’ll go to bed. With wet hair. Wet Betty Page bangs.
And the sheer regret will not allow you to go out in public until you look like this.
Which is not so great, either, but at least doesn’t resemble something Al Bundy would run away from.
