You know when you get your hair colored and then the next day it just has this magical, awesome texture to it? Ugh, I LOVE that! And then you know how it looks even better the next day, so you rock it again? And then how, amazingly, it continues to look even better over the next few days, with lots of crazy volume and badass rock’n’roll grit, so you just go ahead and ride out days four and five, because why the hell not, it doesn’t even look dirty. It just looks SEXY. And then day six rolls around and you’re pinning it up into this perfectly messy bun, which only works right now at this very moment, because it’s magic hair and it can do anything, and you’re thinking to yourself, "this good fortune can’t possibly last another day – where the hell are my body oils funneling to? Oh well, better enjoy it while I can!” And then BAM, you wake up on day seven looking like some hairy dead bird the cat dragged in from a freaking swamp, with leaves and sticks in your mangy pelt, half of it sticking to your head and the other half seeming to run away from your scalp in terror. And my God, what is that smell? And of course you’re late for work, so you frantically try to coax the rotten carpet sample on your head into the same adorably disheveled updo from the day before, but no. Ohhh no, not anymore. The sexy bedhead ship has sailed, and it took your dignity with it. Now you have to just cram some bobby pins in there and go to work looking like you shared a sleeping bag with Homeless Dave on the sidewalk outside the building. In a rainstorm. After a dust bowl.
During a nuclear fallout.
…No? You don’t know how that is?
Yeah, me either...