Hair stars

Got through the week.  Some weeks are harder than others.  Michael's week is still going as he was fortunate enough to go into work tonight.  The last time he worked a Saturday night he came home at 4am.
Last night we had a massive date.  We worked out together, went for sushi and then went to see "The Artist".  Then we had an argument about it because (SPOILER ALERT: do not read the rest of this paragraph if you are planning to go see this movie) at the end of the movie, the main character - who had become drunk and destitute as he was resolute to continue to make silent films when the world was increasing embracing talkies - speaks, and he has a French accent.  This is, apparently, the crux of the movie.  The American public wouldn't have wanted a man with a French accent on screen and so he became irrelevant and forgotten and attempted suicide.  For me it wasn't apparent.  Sorry. 
Agree to disagree.
Today we slept in rather nicely and Michael made me a wonderful breakfast as he always does.  Then he went and got a magical box from Shaw and now I am happily listening to Chill Lounge and drinking organic Chardonnay and contemplating ankle amputation.  Kidding.  Sort of.
Also today we started talking about getting out of dodge.  Retiring.  I don't want to work forever and a large reason that we do have to work forever is because of the absolutely incredible housing prices here.  For what I have (potentially) sold my one bedroom condo for we can buy an entire house in London, Ontario.  It's nuts.
So we came up with a five year plan which essentially involves us saving as much money as we can and then we should be in a good position to possibly entertain the idea of alternate revenue streams and maybe making a rather significant lifestyle change.
Then I went and got my hair cut.  I told my hairdresser that I moved in with Michael at the beginning of the year and she asked how it was going.  I told her how Michael said, shortly after I moved in, "You know what I've noticed since you moved in?" and I said "That my hair is everywhere?" because it bloody well is and he agreed and went on to say that he had been discovering what he referred to as "hair stars" which are little snarls of my hair that hide in various corners of the apartment.  I said I felt bad because I thought my hair loss was freakish and I am surprised I'm not bald and stray, random hair grosses me out.  Another hairdresser agreed and said that even though she cuts hair for a living and has no issue sweeping up hair cuttings, when she has to clean her own hair out of the drain she about vomits.
Anyways.  I have nice hair.  Betty Dunn, my mom's friend, once told me that when I was maybe 10 years old.  She said I had nice hair and skin.  The skin, not so much.  When she told me this I disagreed with her and she insisted on it and then told me that I needed to learn how to take a compliment.  She had red hair and freckles and was a bit loud and I liked her and she was pretty much my mom's best friend and, sadly, she died when she was in her forties and left behind a husband and a little boy.
I do not want to work forever.
I wish my hair stars were worth money.