Sorry Nigel

I'm sitting here on a Saturday night, seething and concocting images resembling war, bombs, swords, guns... all the things which we tell our little people are harmful to society. I don't like guns, or bombs, or swords, or war. I'm nothing like that, but a soppy human being who would like to lay Hello Kitty sheets, but cannot because they do not come in Queen Size. Because of course I sleep in a queen sized bed, that's just how royal I am. I have been let down for the second time in 24 hours. And enough is enough. I'm so sorry Nigel. But I cannot keep letting my hair down (not as in being carefree and happy) because it is also my royal crowning glory. Nigel... the king, no better still, the Hair Queen. There is none like him when it comes to hair. He is the one responsible for having made my hair shine. Yes his hands are magic, but then what is magic compared to being left waiting? Nothing. And it hurts. All the more so because he is my brother-in-law and because I finally fell in love with him. But no, I will not tolerate another prima donna, because one (that's me) is enough. Truth be said, I have been blessed with hair that shines regardless. But then I am obsessed with changing colour as fast as I change shoes. I get bored. And that boredom has cost me a brother and a friend. But it can't be helped. Sorry Nigel, I am moving on.