I’m stuck in this weird limbo right now because my hair is way long and logic tells me that I should cut it. And all the crap that it gets caught in tells me I should cut it--I for real just zipped some in the side closure of a pair of tap shorts. And they were all, “Dude. Snip, snip.”
But I have probably $500-worth of highlights telling me to keep the length around for at least another month.
I finally get what it’s like to have imperfect hair. Like, dry ends that tangle easily that no amount of serum or nights in a masque will change. I am, in fact, mortal. I put my slutty jeans on one leg at a time and then penguin from side to side to shimmy them up over my enormous ass like everybody else.
That’s cool, though. I’ll deal. But it won’t be by morphing into you insane women that do your hair every morning. Like, straightening and blowing and curling… no. It’s a time-management issue, along with an I-don’t-want-to-further-damage-my-hair issue.
The fluff is a battle that’s not worth fighting. And why should I? I love huge hair. And at a time when my roots are laying flat from a lack of personal hygiene, and my ends are throwing themselves dramatically every which way like, “Maaaahhhmmm! I don’t feeeeeeel good!” I’m, like, eff it.
And in the midst of getting ready for Emily’s birthday party, I was more like, “Here, let me help you with that.” And started backcombing my ends and lengths. Then I sprayed some Sally Hershberger Major Body hairspray into the mess, and scrunched it all up with my hands. Because it’s touch-activated.
Then, like, my most popular Instapic ever!
Which didn’t hold a candle to Emily’s…
It’s cool though, it was her birthday! And it’s Emily. The sole reason that Jane hired her was for looks. I know… shallow but true.