But no. It's gone, it's all gone. It actually looks fairly slick. We hadn't dyed it in about two months, so he had some hella root action going on. Now, he's got supershort hair, but with blueish tips. Since his natural color is so dark, the blue is subtle enough to look like something he might have paid $50 for in a salon.

His hair hasn't been this short in eight years. When he puts on his glasses he only wears for driving, he looks like a totally different person. Working undercover for The Man.

It looks really good. I'd forgotten how cute he is with short hair. And in a month or so, when it grows out a little, he'll have those huge perfect curls that are so much fun to run fingers through. D. has hair any girl would kill for. It never even frizzed until he started experimenting with bleach and blue.

One funny thing. Whenever Cost Cutters cuts off more than six inches, they have a form you can fill out if you want to donate your hair to charity. D. filled out the form. So, when you see the cancer patient who's all bitter because not only is she bald, but the wig they made her is bright blue, you'll know who to blame.

Yes, yes, yes. I know his hair will be dyed something sane before they give it to anyone. But D and the stylist lady were having this serious conversation about how his hair really is in excellent condition, and it would help out so much, and I was desperately trying to not burst out laughing at the mental pictures in my brain.

***

His job, if he is hired, is in Oshkosh, That means that I'll probably have to quit the bookstore. I'm really not sure how I feel about this. I want him to have a job. The checking account really wants him to have a job. But but but! Bookstore! That's the first job in my whole life that I don't hate!

There are hours aplenty for me to pick up at the restaurant. Nick has been hiring new waitstaff by the dozen, but all of them only want nights. Lusy, his wife, has been working days, because there's simply no one else. If I wanted, I could work at the restaurant every single day for the rest of my life. Yippie.

Three weeks ago, I asked Bookstore Patti to please pretty please let me know the next time she was hiring. (She was funny. Ken was working the day I went in. Patti looked at me, and then she looked at Ken. Then she looked at me, and then she looked at Ken. She was totally kidding, but it was still amusing.)

I figure I can handle maybe a month of 24/7 waitressing. Then, if Ken suddenly disappears, I don't know anything about it.

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