OK, so – I dyed my hair last week? Which is a thing I do because I am
Yeah. So, I had picked out this color that looked kind of fun. A bit redder than The Usual but hey – life is short.
Oh. My. God. In. Heaven.
I look like…an aging anime character. It’s so red it’s just…just…well, it’s…it’s…
The only problem with this is, well, actually, there’s a couple problems. One is the “aging” thing; I suspect it looks more than a touch ridiculous on me because this is a color for someone who is twenty or thirty-something. While I steadfastly refuse to grow up and maintain a mental age of oh, about, eh, maybe seventeen (on a mature day) (go ahead, say the word ‘fart’ – I’ll snicker. I won’t be able to stop myself), the body looks like I should be loading up the kids into the gray minivan for soccer practice. Ssssssexy!
The other major problem is that I have no hair style.
No, seriously – I have no hair style. The ‘look’ goes like this: Dunk head under sink, apply goop, comb, hope for the best.
That’s my “hair styling” routine in the morning.
Like I said: Ssssssexy!
This color kind of needs a style. In fact, it rather demands it. It says, “Hey! You canNOT go around with me on your hair, but no style! You look like a complete ass. Fix it, loser!”
So I looked at myself in the full-length mirror at work (memo to me: you need one of those – that’s how you would know your pant hems are way too long) (I kid you not, in my own bedroom / bathroom, there is no mirror I could use to even see how my shirt and pants go together; they’re too small and there isn’t enough room to back up enough to see from a distance. Not that I could, seeing as how I need new glasses.) (You know what, now I’m getting a little bummed out. Let’s move on.) and here was this too-funky-fresh-for-me color on that lame excuse of a style and I thought, You know what would be fun?
Yes. That’s right. I thought those six words again.
And then I started trying to figure out if I could do some kind of spikier thing with my hair. Something that had that “it took two hours of hard work to get this hair to look like I forgot to brush it after sleeping under a bridge all night” vibe going, maybe.
You know, something…style-like, with…I think they call it, um, “lift”?
And that, dear female coworkers, is why I was standing in front of the bathroom door holding my hair up in both hands staring at myself all wide-eyed like that with my chin down and a possibly somewhat wild overall expression on my face…as if I’d just learned some terrible truth and just couldn’t deal with the trauma of it.
I was just trying to imagine what I would look like, you know, if I had lift.
Lord-have-mercy, I should NOT be allowed out of the house without a keeper…