The pink spot.
I washed my hair this morning, and took extra special care to dry it the long way, with a blow drier and a round brush, instead of using my potentially tainted curling iron. I thought at first that it was gone, but now, when I look very, very closely at my hair, I can see the faintest hint of pinkiness about two inches down from my roots.
"Do you see that?" I asked the Mathematician just a few minutes ago, shoving a chunk of hair in his face.
"What? What am I looking at?"
"Right there. Does my hair look pink?" I asked.
"Look closer. See, right there. Does it look pink to you?"
"No. Not even the slightest little bit," he replied, turning back to his email, totally unphased.
The ennui the Mathematician exhibited at being asked such a question can only mean one thing: I have truly gone off the deep end as far as my hair is concerned, and have been that crazy for a long time. Long enough, at least, for the Mathematician to be comfortable with my absurd non-sequitors.