a hairy predicament

After performing the vacuum equivalent of a triple-bypass on my Hoover tonight I have come to realize three things:

1. My vacuum was not broken, just severely incapacitated.  No, this admission does not mean I don't need deserve a new vacuum cleaner.  Brandon.
2. I could single-handedly toupée the entire balding population.  By next Thursday if we were to include the hair I could accumulate from every shower and hair-brushing.
3. My hair grows back freakishly fast.  Freakishly.  I am suddenly fascinated by the fact that I'm not bald.  

I cleaned Hoover less than 3 months ago and when I turned it bottom up tonight I thought I'd accidentally sucked up a small Yorkie.

I took my sharpest shears to that mess and still had to tug with both hands and push with both feet.  It must have been quite a sight.  I believe Braylie's exact words were, "Mama, whadyou DOOOOING." Oh, the things you have to look forward to, kiddo.

I won't disgust you with actual photos, but this pretty little lady depicts what I should look like based on the amount of hair sitting in our wastebasket.

Did I say pretty?  Sorry, I meant pretty disturbing.  Though she reminds me a bit of Harry - you know, the Hendersons' adopted friendly giant, circa 1987.  The elusive Mrs. Harry perhaps.

I digress.

I know you're all really here for Braylie spam and are likely glossing over each paragraph thinking "enough chit chat already, show me the kid!"  Here you go ... I aim to please.