Big Sexy Bed Head

ON A SATURDAY MORNING

Crushing On My Fabulous Bed Head … 

You Know My Mirror Has Big Issues.  Lovin’ Itself.  This Messy Mane Isn’t Helping.

Is It, Really, That I Only Flirt With The Shallow Part?  Sad.  Poseur Poster Boy.

“… Like-I-Was-Lovin’-All-Night-But-Actually-Wasn’t-Morning-After-Look Look, Darling.”

 

MANE OF MYSTERY

No More …

Busted.  Confessional.  Penance-Free.

“Big Sexy Bed Head Just Doesn’t Happen Without Big Sexy Time Happening.”

Or, Perhaps, I’ve Discovered The Magical Elixir To Follicle Fantasy Without All The Fussy Stuff.

 

COULD BE A MIRAGE

More Than A Miracle … 

But, I Ain’t Taking Chances.  Wasting An Opportunity.  That Comes Around Only Twice A Week.

Taking It – The Tussled Coif du Jour – On The Road Show Today.

… Owning It.

 

TO THE GYM

Where All Kinds Of Unholy Bed Heads Converge … On The Threadmill Run Of Shame … 

Pony Tails.  Swinging.  Lululemony.

Man Buns.  Cringe-Worthy.  Doo-She Dudes.

… Let’s Go-Go With The First One.

 

GROCERY SHOPPING

Because “Clean-Up At Aisle 5”

Has Gotta Be Tinder Code For:

“Some Kinda Sordid, Shameless Hook-Up, Right?”

Whore Hair.  Jimmy Crack’d Corn.  And I Don’t Care.

 

AND, IF

I’m Feeling Totally Unsorted …

I’ll Cozy My Mosey To The Mall.  Dragging My Keith Richards Meets Charles Bukowski Meets Charlie Sheen – Oh, I Wish – Wanna Be, Tangled Mangold Locks To

“Check Out The Skinny-Ass, Day-Drunk Santa Named Phil.”

For The Photo Bomb … Of Course.

 

Photo by Brenda Timmermans from Pexels

7 thoughts on “Big Sexy Bed Head

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