okay, so, here’s the thing. i have good hair. don’t try to tell me that i don’t because i will cut you. but just because i have good hair doesn’t mean that it and i don’t have a somewhat sordid history…
like the years i rocked the crooked bang…
and then the years i rocked the Eskimo-bang. this was NOT a good look for me. also not a good look? the oversized polo shirt TUCKED INTO an oversized long-ass khaki skirt….what you cannot see in the picture…the matchy-matchy green socks.
and then there was the trip down pixie lane…
then there was the time that i had ORANGE hair
and the time i had a three-month old baby and didn’t realize that my roots were so bad that the top of my head actually used to blend into the background in photos..
and we’re not even going to talk about the time my mother someone convinced me to get a perm and the time my mother someone convinced me to let some man on the beach in the bahamas braid my entire bloody head.
which brings us to today.
hairdresser day. one of my most-favorite days. the day my roots disappear and i get rid of some excess weight and apparently…turn into Farrah Fawcett MEETS Jessica Simpson??!? YIKES
ps. and even though all you people here and on twitter are VERY kind, i still hold by the fact that i look like i belong in a strip club. in the deep south. in the 70s