To all those people who were born with perfect hair that sits straight all the time: please, please never take that for granted. I see people coming and going from work every single day without so much as a stray lock out of place, and I just secretly want to coat their entire desk in glue so they can feel a slight hint of what I suffer through every single day.
Don’t know why glue is my first option…just think it’d be a huge pain to clear out. You might even have to just throw everything away, because it’s too hard to clean, which sounds like a appropriate punishment for having perfect hair and not respecting the fact that there are people less fortunate.
If I wanted to look like that, I’d probably have to schedule an appointment with a hairdresser close to St James place right outside the office, and try to stop work people from looking in the window and seeing that I didn’t do my hair at home. That’s right: I’d have to get salon treatments every single day. That would already be a bit of a drain on the old finances, but knowing my hair, it’d still find a way to thwart my plans. It’s resistant to hairspray, hair glue, hair cement, hair wax, hair extensions…and I mean that one. Last time I got hair extensions, my hair basically taught the artificial hair to be terrible too, and I had to bin them by the end of the day. It’s like spending time with a misery guts and ending up as miserable as them.
And then there’s Selene, flouncing into the office on a rainy, windy day with her flawless raven locks. A plague on your household, Selene. May you turn grey at thirty, like I am. Guess I’d better find an alternate hair salon in the Melbourne CBD that isn’t near work. Having the girls seeing my get treatments for grey hair would just be the last straw.