Hair Fit

I like to think that I'm a 'big picture' kind of gal. Don't sweat the small stuff. Life is too short. I generally buy into all of that shit.

With the notable exception of the Hair Fit.

I know that children are starving in India. That the economy has tanked. That the State of California is in such dire straits that not even The Terminator can fix it. I get it - these are real problems.

However, there are few problems that can put a serious damper on my mood like a bad hair cut. I know hair grows back. I know its not life threatening. And guess what? I still have a massive hair fit.

A hair fit can last for hours, days or even weeks, depending on severity. When I was little, it meant wearing my old little league baseball hat around the house and scowling like I'd lost my best friend. As an adult - well, it pretty much means the same thing. Gloom and doom, folks ... GLOOM AND DOOM.

Luckily, I now have a great hair stylist and the hair fit happens only every few years -- but when it hits, watch out sucka.

I bring this up because sometimes it is okay to sweat the small stuff. And because life isn't too short for a small hair fit. And I'll bet that even Obama pauses from trying to save our country from sinking into bankruptcy and getting attacked by terrorists to get seriously pissed off that his favorite show was erased from his DVR.

So today I'm giving myself permission for being pissed off that my move has once again been pushed back. That I already moved my entire kitchen and am living off of salted almonds and egg sandwiches. That the cable company inadvertently turned off my phone, cable and internet, again. That my watch battery died. And that my nose is running faster than Joe Biden's mouth.

Even the most die hard Plan B'er is allowed to be officially pissed off over the small stuff from time to time.