I know you're all dying to find out what's happening in my life, so I shall tell you. First things first, I'm leaving to go on a study abroad tomorrow. Destinations include Australia, New Zealand, and Fiji. The program is offered through the recreation management program.
"But Drew," you say, "you're not a part of the rec. management program."
"Quite right." I reply while stirring my tea, monocle perched daintily upon my cheek.
"So you mean to say that you're going on a completely superfluous study abroad?" you gasp, "Don't you know how wasteful that is?!"
Yes, going on a study abroad where I get no credit that is of use to me is quite unnecessary, if not wasteful. But guys. What about FUN? We camp, backpack, scuba dive, snorkel, skydive, black water raft, eat stuff and go to beaches. It's a very rigorous academic program, to be sure. So, when I get back, I'm sure I'll have all sorts of fun happenings to blog about.
But for now, a story. I wanted to get my hair cut pretty short for this trip so I wouldn't have to deal with it very much. 1 and a 1/2 inches, probably. So, I waltzed on over to my friend's (Annie) house to utilize her mom's (Susan) sweet hair cutting skills. When I got there, Susan was on the phone. Annie said that Susan was probably going to be talking for a while, so Annie suggested that she do the cutting herself. We got the buzzer out, selected what we thought was the appropriate extension for my desired hair length, and went out to the backyard. I sat down and Annie ran the buzzer across the top of my head. She got a look on her face.
"What? Is it pretty short?" I ask.
"Oh, it looks fine." she says. She finished the rest of my head and I looked in a mirror.
As it turns out, we severely miscalculated the length of the buzzer extension. My desired short pixie turned into a straight up Sinead O'Connor.
Annie reassured me that it looked fine while I had a series of tiny panic attacks. Susan, finally freed from her conversation, suggested that I stay away from collared shirts for a while.
But behold! I have recovered from my initial shock and now accept my situation. Zero maintenance! I look forward to several weeks of being mistaken for a boy, a recovering cancer patient, and a lesbian, in that order.
See you in 5 weeks!