




Some days I get nervous that my hair will take on a life of its own. Not only is it virtually impossible to run your hands through but I’m pretty sure I’ve lost things in there. My hair isn’t killer, it’s actually a killa. There’s this one photo of me when I was 4-years-old that my brother constantly threatens to broadcast on my wedding day. It’s the only time I’ve ever let my hair reach my waist and the photo is taken during a bath when my hair is damp, frizzed and extra-huge. You can only see a big smile and a tiny frame devoured by hair. So needless to say, when the heat rash started, the hair was the first thing to go and thus began the dreaded mushroom cut. I may just grow it back and stage a follow-up photo shoot …
