My hair aspires to be more than it is. More often than not I do absolutely nothing with it, so my hair usually skips the chain of command and does what it wants. Sometimes I walk into the bathroom in the morning, screech to a stop against the linoleum, and admire the work my hair did overnight. Shapely textured and correctly folded over a daring part, I can’t help but appreciate the effort. Then my hair sighs softly to itself as I step into the shower and pull it back into the librarian hawtness look. My hair and its efforts does sometimes get a reprieve because I’m lazy and it’s the weekend, and god, who again am I trying to impress?
As I sit here, waiting for the dye to adhere to my head, let me take an embarrassing trip back in time to see where I’ve been.
Posted by firewings 
