Pre-Haircut Emotions and Obama Barack

So this is the day my hair (I hope) returns to the land of the normal and not the land of the pseudo hipster. I am a mom, I don't need to be looking all crazy and young and hipsterish. Thank you very much. I am feeling a bit antsy because I don't know what Marcus the Hair Cutting guy is going to say to me. My one fear is he says - what the hell are you talking about, your hair is fine. But hopefully he pities me and makes sense of what lies upon my head. Not even sure I want to share this, but what the hell. This morning while laying in bed between the not sleeping and not quite awake limbo I started thinking about Barack Obama. The following is a trace of my thought process (it ain't pretty).

Wow, Barack Obama had the initials of "OB".
Hah, that is funny. My tampon is called an OB.
And I took my virginity with it.
Hah, Barack Obama took my virginity.
Wait a second. His initials are BO, not OB.
What a fucking retard I am. Is that Owen?

Yeah. So, I don't know what the hell that was all about. I could blame dyslexia, but I am not dyslexic, so chalk it up to mental deficiency due to major hair trauma. And you know why I am only sort of worried about this haircut, because I could have sworn that this morning (given my Guardian Angel Sully's disposition of distain) that it would be the perfect hair day. But nope, I got nothing but the crack ho. So shear away Marcus. Shear away.