Horrifying moments, one.

This morning I could not focus, what with the internet and tv to be watched and so on, so I relocated myself to the closest Starbucks with comfy chairs and proceeded to pump out four thousand words of research-y writing. I was there for seven hours, and finally, my head buzzing from too many macciato's and my neck sore from hovering over my laptop, I returned home and had a nice hot shower and a nap in bed with my hair still wet. AND THEN THE DOORBELL RANG. I did not think to check on my slept-on fuzzy-sort-of-wet hair, I wasn't really aware of the pillow creases on my face, and I didn't note that I was wearing a giant sweater of J's and stupid capri bottoms with palm trees on them. I became suddenly aware of all of these things, though, when I, thoroughly horrified, greeted MY HAIRDRESSER at the door. Handing out promotional flyers for his new salon. He didn't recognize me at first. I think I need to die now. And get a new hairdresser.