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?
Oh.
Yeah, me either...
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