The other day, Scott stopped in to Rigo’s Taco’s on Woodman. As he was leaving, the clerk waved goodbye, calling after him: “say hi to god for me.” Tom (who was with him) and I were both, naturally, amused by this. Scott on the other hand took it (coupled with the fact that I’d already taken to addressing him exclusively as “Oh Holy One”) as a sign that he needed to sever his luscious golden locks. The guy doesn’t get that we ladies would pay hundreds of dollars for that fabulous color and natural Farrah-esque wave. (In fact, I’m pretty sure that if/when he reads this, I’m going to get a stern talking to about discussing said locks on the internet.) But, seriously, didn’t he look kind of Christ-like this way? I mean, minus the taquito, of course.