I have yellow electrical tape stuck in my hair right now. Around three feet of it. It would take much too long to explain how said tape managed to get it's sticky little fingers into my tresses, so you're just going to have to concoct your own back story. This new “friend” of mine has been with me all evening...through nap time, cooking (read: “microwaving”) dinner, and a brief little perusal of Facebook. I would love to lie to you and explain away the longevity of this relationship by feigning ignorance of its existence, but that would be wrong and, more importantly, it would bring about the end of this little post of mine. So, I'll be honest. I tried for two minutes, ripped out countless hairs, and concluded that beauty is not pain and I have no qualms with returning to work like this. Yup. No qualms. None at all. I swear. Oh alright fine. Hold on a minute.
<Intermission>
Alright, tape is gone. I am bald. End of story. Well, kind of. This little hair incident of mine is not the first of its kind and I suspect that it isn't going to be the last – in that sense the story has not finished. When I was fourteen, I donned a prickly little Velcro suit and climbed into one of those inflatable obstacle courses lined with fuzz. Not only did I get stuck, upside-down, in this death trap, but I also managed to get my (almost) waist length curly hair intertwined strategically in between and wrapped around all the little Velcro prongs on my suit. It took four teachers to coax my hair out of the Velcro and three months to work all the knots out of my poor, matted mane. Yes, months. Fortunately enough for me, the messy bun look was just starting to be phased out of Seventeen and I am one to realize trends a little late in the game. Ideal timing, if I say so myself. So, for three months I rocked the stylishly disheveled look.
Hmm...this is far, far from my original intentions for this blog post. Come to think of it, I had no real intentions for it. I guess I’d just connected something about tape and denial to lizards and C.S. Lewis and thought it worth writing about. Meh. Maybe another night.
P.S. Dang it. I think this means I owe you ten bucks.
<Intermission>
Alright, tape is gone. I am bald. End of story. Well, kind of. This little hair incident of mine is not the first of its kind and I suspect that it isn't going to be the last – in that sense the story has not finished. When I was fourteen, I donned a prickly little Velcro suit and climbed into one of those inflatable obstacle courses lined with fuzz. Not only did I get stuck, upside-down, in this death trap, but I also managed to get my (almost) waist length curly hair intertwined strategically in between and wrapped around all the little Velcro prongs on my suit. It took four teachers to coax my hair out of the Velcro and three months to work all the knots out of my poor, matted mane. Yes, months. Fortunately enough for me, the messy bun look was just starting to be phased out of Seventeen and I am one to realize trends a little late in the game. Ideal timing, if I say so myself. So, for three months I rocked the stylishly disheveled look.
Hmm...this is far, far from my original intentions for this blog post. Come to think of it, I had no real intentions for it. I guess I’d just connected something about tape and denial to lizards and C.S. Lewis and thought it worth writing about. Meh. Maybe another night.
P.S. Dang it. I think this means I owe you ten bucks.
ha ha, why have I never heard this amazing story before?
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