Somewhere in the far-reaches of my conscious mind this morning, I heard my alarm go off.
Bleary-eyed, I checked the clock.
Press the snooze.
I'll close my eyes for just a few more minutes....
No, no, no!!
Adrenaline surges through me as I throw off the covers, shoot out of bed, and bound to the bathroom. Taking the quickest shower possible, (which still ends up being 10 minutes long due to my immense amount of strawberry strands), I then have about 5 minutes to blow-dry, put in contacts, and apply the make-up.
I'm out the door in time, with a surprisingly good-looking face, but hair that was only half dry.
That was a
It was about 17 degrees outside this morning. But with the glacial wind blowing up through the canyon, it felt a whole lot colder than that.
Though I was fully equipped with coat, boots, earmuffs, and gloves, I was still
My hair turned to ice as I braved the -70 degree weather.
Every gust of that peremptory wind bit, clawed, slapped, and pinched at any part of my bare skin it could reach.
My face, in particular.
All the while my frozen hair whipping my face in earnest,
As if I wasn't cold enough already.
When I finally reached the safe haven of the Fine Arts Center, I expected to be flooded with beautiful warmth as I walked through the door.
But all I felt was my frozen hair beginning to thaw, allowing horridly cold water to drip down my face, my frigid jeans biting at my legs, my face aching with the sudden change in the temperature.
(Did I mention it was negative 7000 degrees outside?)
Finally, about 15 minutes later, I felt better.
But you can bet on your life that I will
venture out into the bitter cold of Logan with wet hair again.