Bang Bang
I had planned to write down some of my thoughts regarding the Doctor Who finale. But it is late and I don't even know where to begin. So, for now, I will table all those thoughts and talk about my hair.
Today, my mom was holding a box of medium brown hair dye and said, "I can help you with this, if you want."
To which I replied, "Is that a hint?"
She revealed that she was surprised by the amount of gray hair I have.
I revealed that I haven't dyed my hair in five months because I want to see how long I can go and how much gray I really have (because when you dye it regularly, you can lull yourself into thinking you have less than you actually do and then, before you know it, your whole head is different color and reminds people of Bozo the Clown's dyejob). The truth is, I have lots of white hair (not gray, white, except in a few places where it is silver) at my temples. All I need to do for Halloween is crimp my hair
I am terribly vain, afraid of aging and becoming unattractive, but for some reason, I just can't get worked up about the gray hair. I mean, I know my skin has too much yellow/olive undertones to really make the gray hair work, so I will dye it eventually, but I just can't get all that worked up about it. But before you start thinking that this is some sign of maturity and growing acceptance who I am, you must remember that I have been going gray since I was seventeen years old. It is hard to think of gray hair as a signifier of age when one has had gray hair since before one was legally an adult. Also, I have bangs, which according to a very popular blog (way more popular than mine...this one got a book deal, after all) means people should befriend me because I am probably the most popular. Who knew?
The thing the Stuff White People Like blog fails to take into consideration is, when assessing another person's coolness, something like great hair can and often will be trumped by a something like a person's abiding love for science fiction. Or even an unfortunate nose. What I should have said to my mom was that fabulous hair will only take you so far in this world and summer is too short to waste any time breathing in ammonia fumes (at least, that is what I say now, next week, I may be saying something else).
Today, my mom was holding a box of medium brown hair dye and said, "I can help you with this, if you want."
To which I replied, "Is that a hint?"
She revealed that she was surprised by the amount of gray hair I have.
I revealed that I haven't dyed my hair in five months because I want to see how long I can go and how much gray I really have (because when you dye it regularly, you can lull yourself into thinking you have less than you actually do and then, before you know it, your whole head is different color and reminds people of Bozo the Clown's dyejob). The truth is, I have lots of white hair (not gray, white, except in a few places where it is silver) at my temples. All I need to do for Halloween is crimp my hair
I am terribly vain, afraid of aging and becoming unattractive, but for some reason, I just can't get worked up about the gray hair. I mean, I know my skin has too much yellow/olive undertones to really make the gray hair work, so I will dye it eventually, but I just can't get all that worked up about it. But before you start thinking that this is some sign of maturity and growing acceptance who I am, you must remember that I have been going gray since I was seventeen years old. It is hard to think of gray hair as a signifier of age when one has had gray hair since before one was legally an adult. Also, I have bangs, which according to a very popular blog (way more popular than mine...this one got a book deal, after all) means people should befriend me because I am probably the most popular. Who knew?
The thing the Stuff White People Like blog fails to take into consideration is, when assessing another person's coolness, something like great hair can and often will be trumped by a something like a person's abiding love for science fiction. Or even an unfortunate nose. What I should have said to my mom was that fabulous hair will only take you so far in this world and summer is too short to waste any time breathing in ammonia fumes (at least, that is what I say now, next week, I may be saying something else).
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