I have naturally curly hair and yet am sitting here in hot rollers. Something is wrong with this picture. They’re all over my head — not in the normal hot roller sense of being tidily cozied up to all my hairs, but in the “I’m doing something wrong” sense of being all over the place, half falling out and hanging down at painful angles. If I opened the door to a mailman right now, even our mailman, he would run.
Also, I’m pretty sure I set off the smoke detector somehow. See, I already set it off during this “Gene’s in Boston, I’m gonna fuck up the apartment” week of hedonism, by cooking something a little too long. So I had to take it off the wall and pull the battery out to make it stop yelling. (There’s another one in the living room that’s still active, don’t worry.) But just now, sitting sort of kind of close to my roller box, it started giving these weird beeps again. With the battery out.
Anyway, to sum up, this was a terrible plan and my smoke detector may be haunted, so when next you see me I may be bald or possessed. You’ve been warned.