On Saturday I finally got up from the computer around 7:30 pm and got ready to head off to various Halloween parties. I was vaguely thinking it would be nice to do some sort of a costume, but didn't have any ideas. As I trimmed my beard, I considered shaving the whole beard off; would be good for startling my co-workers, but I don't especially like how my face looks without it (last time I shaved, for New Year's 1998 (which had a New Year's 1948 theme, and American men (at least white upper-middle-class American men) apparently just didn't wear beards in 1948), people told me I looked about 18), and it would take several weeks to fully grow back. While I was showering, it occurred to me that if I had someone more experienced around to egg me on, I would probably bleach my hair, but I didn't have the impetus to do it, and I was already running way late. When I told Mary Anne about the idea later, she thought it would be cool. If I had more time this week—well, tonight, really—I might do it for tomorrow. I've never been a blond. But I'd have to do my eyebrows and my beard, and to really do it right I'd have to do my arm hair (which is dark and visible) and chest hair (or else shave any visible parts), and that started to sound like an awful lot of trouble. Besides, I've never done anything to my hair before; always taken good care of it, various people have noted that it's nicely undamaged, and I wouldn't want that to change. Mary Anne said bleaching it wouldn't damage it permanently, 'cause it would just grow out, which makes sense, but it seems like such a drastic step to take. . . .

But if I went to some sort of salon tomorrow morning, I could get them to bleach my hair in time for me to show up for the Halloween party at work in the afternoon. It might be worth it just to see my co-workers' expressions. (I also considered showing up in drag—the party will feature a costume contest including an award for best cross-dressing—but I haven't got a thing to wear; the old dress Beth gave me years ago no longer fits, alas.)

(For the Saturday-night parties, I ended up wearing the old jester outfit Kam got me a few years back. It more or less fits. Some day I'll get opaque tights to wear with it so my unshaved legs aren't quite so obvious.)

Okay, long past time for me to go home and eat. And edit. Eat and edit. Edit to live, live to edit. Can you tell I'm getting punchy?

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