My instructor is very good, especially at being a mean, heartless woman who delights in beating me to a pulp and working me until I vomit. After a grueling hour lesson, with shaking arms I helped my niece tack up her pony, and then she and I went on a nice long trail ride.
As I was driving her home, my sister rang me and begged me to wait at her house until she finished grocery shopping. She had something very important to ask me. I agreed. When I arrived, I made a snack and then promptly passed out on her couch, the remnants of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich smeared on my face.
When I awoke, I screamed and threw myself backward into the couch cushions. Standing over me was my sister, scissors in one hand, and an ENORMOUS FREAKING CHUNK OF MY HAIR IN THE OTHER.
Apparently, she’s recently become obsessed with Victorian mourning jewelry. Yes, that’s jewelry made from locks of dead people hair.
I pointed out to her that I wasn’t dead yet, and she replied, “Well, you will be. Maybe sooner than you think! It’s best to be prepared.”
So that was a thing that happened.
Here are some examples of what she wants to make: