Rogaine

Sunday was the annual Schwan's "torture our workers with small children picnic" at Independence Park. Don't get me wrong, if I were 6 it'd be a blast. Each year we continue to take our children because they have a wonderful time on the blow-up carnival rides and playing the carnival games while Wendi and I wonder what on earth possessed us to come. The only thing we can think of is the free food, but in all honesty it isn't that great of food (other than the Ice Cream and for everyone but me, the watermelon).

In the end we're left with the confusion of why on earth did we put ourselves through that? Bingo? I've never had the privilege of saying that word, Wendi either. In fact the only time I get numbers covered up on my card is while playing stand-up bingo. How unlucky can one person be? To add to the istinkatbingo misery I get to listen to my children complain about not doing what they want to do. Do you see where this is going? *sigh*

To add to my personal misery I now have what has become known as my "rogaine line". I was foolish enough to wear a visor instead of a cap and was even more foolish to not put on any sunscreen. A lot of people wouldn't have a problem with this but well...you've seen my forehead and when you consider that Wendi cut my hair on Saturday to the perfect length of 1/8 inch even more of my precious scalp was exposed to the glorious sun.

At least now I know where to rub in the rogaine since I have this lovely laser-level-like line separating the pasty white flesh of my forehead with the roma tomato red on the top of my head. Pics to come.