>During a walking tour of haunted Ocean City, my cell phone rang. It was the creepiest part of the tour, as the guide was telling us about how the poltergeist on the second floor of the blinding yellow building we stood in front of was so evil that a psychic refused to enter the building, but I noticed that it was Future Sister in Law, who never calls me, so I got nervous. What if Brother-in-Law never made it home after he left the beach house this afternoon? I decided to take the call.

"Hi!" FSIL said chipperly. "I was just wondering if you planned to do your own hair for our wedding or if you wanted it done at the salon I checked out this weekend."

This was truly a scarier question than the unanswered one about the milk bucket full of random women's hair that the current owner of the haunted building discovered behind a bricked over back part of the structure when he knocked it down to expand his antique store.

"Um, that depends," I replied. "When you say 'do your hair,' I assume that means more than comb it? Because that's about all I can handle."

"Well, some of the girls with longer hair will get it blown out or put into updo's," was FSIL's non-response response. I think she didn't want to offend me by suggesting that the thought of me doing my own hair was a terrifying prospect, as I'd be the fugly bridesmaid who ruined all the pictures.

"Yeah, even though I have no hair to style, just make an appointment for me," I said.

By then, all the hairs were standing up on my arms. I'd almost rather brave the evil spirits haunting the scariest building in Ocean City than trust a New Jersey hair stylist to make me look normal. (Remember Bon Jovi? He's from New Jersey. His songs may be bitchin', but the dude embodies bad Jersey hair.) Almost.

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