Allow Me to Explain My Hair…

No, really – ALLOW me…

Perhaps you are completely clueless to that fact that blurting out, “Wow! Did you stick your finger in an electric outlet!!??” makes it sort of impossible to take this ass-hattery as any kind of flattering.

I decided to grow my hair out.  For the past dozen years it’s been in varying stages of short – from modified pixie to super-short summer crop.  It’s fun and is also a way more affordable plan to just grow it out and enjoy my curls.  Sorry Tanya – I love you like time away from the office and wine aprés-spliff but your place is starting to make me think it’s weeding out the “trash” by raising prices from moderately affordable to “her-chauffer-drives-a-Beemer”.

Purrty, right!?

Purrty, right!?

My morning arsenal of blow-dryer and flat-iron enabled my survival of the arctic chill by way of hats and hoods.  Trust me, folks – fine, curly hair is no place for a winter head-cover; unless you want your boss to stage an intervention or give you another talking-to because his secretary now looks even less happy…  and sort of like an unwashed junkie. Here is what my office has seen every day since the official 2015 ice age set in   →

Apparently they were spoiled.

I coughed up $50 a couple of weeks ago to snip, point, razor-cut and *voila* these wispy, ragged hairs into a short bob.  Which I’ve continued to blow out straight for the remainder of this bone-chilling winter.

Recently we have felt the arrival of some warmer weather.  It’s amazing how months of exposure to sub-zero temperatures makes you wanna skip down the muddy driveway naked when the mercury rises to anything above a mere 40°.  “Balmy”, they say.  “GET ME MY SANDALS!!”, they shout.  No, people; just no… It is NOT that warm yet!

But I digress.

Deal with it.

Deal with it. Or I will zap you with my electro-charged hair.

Lately since my car doesn’t feel like a cryogenic chamber in the morning I’ve been leaving the ‘do curly.  Like this photo on the left.

Not one, but TWO entirely different people who work in entirely different departments made the “electric outlet” comment.  Haters.

Are ringlets so alien to the people of the bourgeois suburb where I live and work that they have no appropriate reaction?  There are comments on my hair every – – Single – – DAY.  What the hell, folks?  It’s just HAIR!

Even one of the accountants in my department has a theory that my curls are a sign that I will be sarcastic and mean and his day will go badly.  And that straight means nice.  No, stoopid – I am the same surly Snarky McSnarkerton despite the degree of bend in my hair shaft.  Get a grip, Nancy!

So for all of you who feel the need to fawn all over my head-space when my hair is shiny and straight –

“Can I touch it?”  YES, but it will cost you…

– to those who feel the need to repeat how much they just LOVE my curls every, single BLEEPIN’ day or “tease” me about how “switched-on” it looks, basta, already.

It’s HAIR, for criminy’s sake; not Saturnian diamond-rain.  Get a frickin’ grip. 😛

Advertisements

About LVital7019

Just your normal, everyday 9-5er. An uninspiring position in an inspirational non-profit moves me to constant goof-offery; aimless, on-the-job procrastination; a crankiness that borders on psychosis; and attempting to craft something meaningful with words. Just another so-called-job inspiring someone to feats of insanity with a hint of creativity... (Insert demonic laugh HERE.) View all posts by LVital7019

11 responses to “Allow Me to Explain My Hair…

Use your words...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Tony Single

artist. wastrel. a quantum of potential.

The Greenwich Village Literary Review

A magazine by writers who love to write for readers who love to read.

The Winter Bites My Bones

The Collected Poems of Dennis McHale: 1981-2016

%d bloggers like this: