The other day, I made the unfortunate mistake of looking at myself int he mirror. I was washing my hands in the bathroom and I nearly gasped at my reflection.
"God," I muttered, "I really look terrible."
Primo was in the living room and overheard me. He concurred.
"No offense Mommy," he said, and thats a phrase which never bodes well, "But you do really look terrible, when your hair is two different colors."
He is referring to the fact that my roots have grown out a good inch to two inches.
"Primo!" I exclaimed,
"I said 'no offense' Mommy," he defended myself.
Two days later, I found myself in the salon, getting highlights.
"Can you make them brighter this time?" i asked the stylist.
My son has given me a complex.