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| Monday, August 30, 2004 04:04 AM |
| Hair |
| by poppy |
I have had a long and torturous relationship with my hair. It began when my mother would cut my bangs at home to save money. She would begin, and then realize they were a bit lopsided and so take a bit more off the other side. I did not have very many bangs as a youth.
Then in high school I decided I wanted blue hair. This was a bit difficult, since my Catholic school did not approve of such things. So, the obvious answer was to dye the bottom of my hair. Genius. This operation was performed in a friend’s backyard with the assistance of a garden hose. Precision was what we were all about. When it became clear that dying the underside of one’s hair blue pretty much guarantees a blue neck, my friend leapt to the rescue. Ajax! Ajax has bleach! Bleach removes stains! The fact that it will also, if applied just so, remove skin would become clear only later.
The worst hair decision of my life would have to be dying my waist length chestnut hair black. Not like brown-black. Black. I did this a week before my senior prom. This went over very well in my family. This was incidentally quickly followed by my second worst hair decision, which resulted in inch long hair. For anyone that is wondering: this is fun for about three hours. Please keep that in mind before getting any scissors. It itches.
I became convinced in college that I deserved red hair. It seemed my birth right. I am Irish, incredibly pale skinned, freckled within an inch of my life, and have blue eyes. I became indignant that my parents had, probably purposefully, robbed me of my due. So I decided to color my hair again, but this time, this time, it would be different. It would be lovely and complimentary. Of course I wanted it to stay around for a long time, and since red notoriously fades quickly I decided that a deep red would, of course, be far more logical than biweekly dye jobs (I am, for those who do not know me well, rather lazy). I spent most of my college years with purplish hair, though… oh wait. There was a worse hair decision than the buzz cut. It was when I decided to be platinum in my junior year and used three bottles of bleach to attempt to so this. Forgot about that one. The punch line of the purple-ness though is that I redid it three days before my college graduation. I believe I will be remembered to my peers.
This is all to say that, as of this morning, I have a bright red neck… and arms… and bathroom floor. I ask that, if you see me in the next few days, you think of my years of struggle, and offer me chocolate. And if you see my bathroom floor… well, don’t look at the bathroom floor. |
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