Ode to my hair
Other women have glossy, shiny, bouncy hair. Hair that gets songs written about it. Hair that gets stares and sighs. Be the girl with the hair!
I’ve tried to take care of you. I’ve washed you, conditioned you, styled you, brushed you. I’ve used natural shampoo, henna, beer, highly expensive chemical concoctions, three minute miracles, long term plans, and overnight protein packs. And here you sit, looking stupid AGAIN. Another day of looking like I slept in the park.
First of all, you’re blond at the ends, red in the midsection, and gray at the roots. I dyed you dark brown. What the hell happened? There are no dark brown hairs left. They fled within a week of the dye job. How can something stain my carpets permanently but leave no mark on my head?
Secondly, you drink conditioner like you’re a frat boy sucking suds. I’ve conditioned you every damn day, and you’re crispy and frizzy. Today I didn’t even use shampoo, just conditioner, and you’re still a fried mess. Would one day of shine kill you?
And let’s talk about the cut. I have no money to blow, so I can’t afford a good expensive cut. I can afford Supercuts, maybe, but that way I’d have a short stupid haircut. So I don’t cut it, and now I have a long stupid haircut. I keep it long so I have styling options, because maybe someday I’ll come up with something that looks good. Riiiiiiight.
I’ve seen women with beautiful hair. I know they exist – Rapunzel and Godiva and the Breck Girl and the bitch in the office next door. They have glorious gorgeous fabulous tresses. I wish I could have them, just for a day.
But noooooo. You perch atop my head, like a fuzzy lopsided stringy nasty dead wombat. You are the cockroach in the hot fudge sundae of my life. Screw you, I’m buying a hat.