Hair Girl

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I always wanted to be a hair girl.

A hair girl has fabulous hair.  It is always in place.  Are you a hair girl?  If you are, I envy you a little bit.

In fulfilling my goals to clean and organize my lovely home during funemployment, I have come across a lot of pictures.

In those pictures my hair is usually up.  Thrown up.  Not a whole lot of thought or effort.

Infrequent curls, not enough waves, not even a good effort at flat ironing.

Sometimes I want to be a hair girl.  I have friends who are hair girls.  They are known for having great hair.

In truth, I hate the salon.  The sitting, pretending to be interested in Marie Claire or Vogue.

I pour over fashion magazines while my head burns under that heat thingamajig and I am always worried if I move my head too much one side will bleach faster than the other.

The articles usually bore me.  The smell of people with great hair cutting and coloring other people into great hair is... bothersome.

And I know it is a means to an end.  A means to having great hair for an afternoon, because, Lord knows, I will, in no time at all, have my freshly cut and colored hair back up in a haphazard bun

I want to be a hair girl. 

I think.

It seems like an awful lot of work.

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