That’s what He called me when we planned our meet on Monday. As in “get your sassy ass down here–and hope that I decide to show at all.”

That’s back when I was being a naughty slut, and had send Him not just that super-snarky text the prior night, but some “flirting with danger” texts the next morning.

That bite on my arm certainly re-established which of us was really in control (of course I knew it all along, but you know–sometimes it just happens that my brain runs amok, and I…get a bit lazy in my submission.)

We’ve had a lot of back and forth the last two weeks while I dealt with my hair crisis. Even my spouse hated it. And felt bad for me. It didn’t reflect at all how I feel inside.

“You’re used to being my sassy red-headed slut,” He said, amazingly sympathetic to my tears. “And now you’re not feeling quite like your inside and outside matches.”

He got it.

With very few words, and a sprinkling of tears, He got to the heart of it. He can be so very compassionate. Sometimes it’s hard to remember He’s also a sadistic bastard. But there is this tender side to Him that amazes me, and His ability to nurture and soothe and care for me from afar is a wondrous gift. I love that about Him, that when I really truly need Him to give me a boost–He’s right there boosting me.

This doesn’t mean that after He’s lifted me from the deep depression I’d fallen into (I know–it’s so amazingly shallow. But I did.) that He didn’t tease me about it.

At first, a wee gentle teasing, testing the waters to make certain that I wouldn’t fall back into my pit of gloom.

When I giggled, and texted back with a bit of sass, He got funny-meaner about it. Funny with a bite. (How appropriate!)

And He did it with such aplomb that I wasn’t mad or annoyed–it really helped me get through it. I don’t like baseball hats, but I learned damn quick how to make a nice tight bun, and wore it that way for two weeks, even when camping.

I’m really a ponytail girl–a bun looks kind of weird on me unless it’s loose–this wasn’t that kind of bun. This was an “I hope you don’t really see my hair is fucking brunette” bun.

But today.


Like Day. O Day. Tuesday.

Hair fixing day.

And it is. Fixed, I mean.

And it was. So. Freaking. Amazing.

Bleached out to pale gold, then the color put on and now it’s much more like Nicole Kidman’s red. A carroty-strawberry red. Not blonde, but very light undertones. And I’m back.

I’m red.

I’m happy.

I’m ME again!

(oh. Did you want to see it? My bad… 🙂 … oh…okay.)