Brantley-ims

The last couple of weeks have been pretty hectic for me and combined with a sick baby, I was a bit overdue for a hair appointment. I emerged from the bathroom yesterday morning flustered after a fruitless twenty minutes of trying to fix my hair. Brantley handled the subject with as much sensitivity as you would expect. "Are you getting your hair done this week?" he asked. "Yes," I replied. He went on, "it's not the style that's bad, but your roots would make Kunta Kinte blush."
Thanks, honey. I hadn't noticed.