You're in a rut, need a quick pick-me-up, something better than a chocolate bar you'll rationalize any miniscule traces of fun out of by getting off the elevator a couple floors earlier than planned, but less debt-inducing than a new wardrobe. You need a new haircut, something fun, short, or at least shorter, and maybe a little bit chunky-funky.
The luxury of the shampoo-massage induces a sense of calm, the anticipation of how great you'll look is coursing through you like cheap crack, you can't wait to turn around and see…absolute and total hideousness. Duck-bangs that you can already tell will spike crazily when you attempt to lasso them in yourself, a shortness on the sides that's reminiscent of Frankenstein's monster, and a hole in the back, artfully covered for the mirror-in-hand-turn-around-reveal, discovered the next morning as you start the now-daily process of Dep-ping the entire front half of your head. Which discovery makes you pound the countertop, because you know that's not gonna get better with a week or two of growing, which pounding causes a hairline fracture of your beautiful porcelain sink-surface with a mirror image in the bones of your hand.
At least in middle school, someone pointed out to you when you looked hideous. Enjoy your coworkers asking awkwardly "did you get a haircut? It looks gray-ate." Your weak smile of response will be just as false as their sentiments.
Posted by Jilly
Thursday, February 19, 2009
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