I’ve gotten so many comments, many privately, about how my last post resonated with people. Who knew we all had marauding sorority girls messing with our internal workings? But let’s face it, the “girls” aren’t the only issue with getting older. And no, I’m not talking about the actual aches and pains associated with aging. Those, while most definitely compelling, are actually kinda boring. No, I’m talking about hair. As in what in the everliving f#@$ has happened to mine!
How am I supposed to blow dry this shit?
For fifty years I had poker straight hair—think Marcia Brady or Morticia Addams—and no amount of “curling” could fix that. Hot rollers, curling irons, and those old fashioned foam curlers that left you with a headache and sleep deprivation the next morning need not apply. And forget hairspray, styling gels, or mousse. No, if I wanted waves, I had to resort to the chemical variety. Remember perms? I can still smell the rotten egg odor of fresh perm solution... shudder. After years of soul searching and heartbreak, I gave up trying to change my fate back in 1992. But after finally making peace with my lot in life, hurricane fifty slams into port and now my head is channeling Janis Joplin. And come on! How am I supposed to deal with Medusa’s snakes after years of being the little girl from the Ring? I’ve been too busy fighting off drunken sorority girls to learn new styling tricks. I don’t even know how to blow dry this shit. And trust me, I tried. When I was done, I looked like a cartoon character who shoved her finger into a light socket. I suppose I could always dye it red and pick up extra cash scaring kids at birthday parties. And imagine all the fun blog posts I’ll get to write... one has to look on the bright side of things, am I right?
Until the next time... I’ll be shopping for hats!