I Suppose I Could Just Shave My Head

I have a lot of hair. It's like my hair took being a Leo literally and grew itself to epic proportions. On a daily basis. I have pregnancy hair, but permanently. It never goes away.

What this means is that I regularly kill hair dryers. I have to get a new one every two to three years because no mere mortal appliance can maintain the stamina it requires to dry my hair on a daily basis.

I killed one a month ago. It didn't actually die, it just gave up on warming up to hot air, like it just wanted to go in peace by blowing out arctic blasts instead of completely giving up. I let it. However, I still needed to dry my hair so I borrowed D's. For a month. It was one of those little travel-sized things and she hardly ever used it so it only lasted a month. Barely.

Finally, last week I bought a new hair dryer. It's cute. It's pink and black. I think it heard the rumors about me and hasn't worked its way up to full power yet, but we're getting along. So far.

Anyway, this was the conversation about the new hair dryer.

D: I like your new hair dryer.
Me: Thanks.
D: Did mine die too?
Me: Yes.
D: I like our new hair dryer.