I bet guys don’t feel this way. Actually, I bet there are some guys who feel this way, but not most. And I bet there are many women who don’t feel this way. Now that I’ve shattered all those stereotypes, I’ll tell you what I’m talking about. Hair, that’s what. And specifically, when your hair is wrong, your life is wrong. So.
I’m not vain, really. I barely even look in the mirror most days. But when I do, I’m all like “Yikes!” because things are changing as I scroll through my thirties here, and my hair, it is so lame. Why can’t it just stay good when it’s good? Once a year or so, I spend real money to have my good pal cut it and I love it and take profile pictures and then it just grows, like a schmuck. But what about when I go to “Great” Clips and get it cut like a schmuck to start with? Does it grow then? No, it doesn’t. It just sits around snarfing Doritos and collecting unemployment.
And I get crazy, see? I look at myself in the mirror and I’m all like, “Uuuugh,” because the color’s all wrong or I look like Lady Elaine Fairchild or whatever and so I go find my husband and I say, “Look at this! Look how terrible my hair is, how frumpy and lame!” and he’s always super comforting like, “Well, really, it’s your face that’s the problem, because you look depressed,” or something like that and I say, “My face is depressed because of my hair.”
The tension builds between me and my hair. I think hateful thoughts in an upward fashion, and I collect pictures of gorgeous women with thick wavy hair (mine is thin and straight-ish) and I look at those pictures and I look at myself and then I snap and go buy some random hair color and go get a cheap haircut and then I’m like, “Okay, so that’s not so bad. If I put a barrette… or I just brush it over here, or I kiss a frog in a cemetery at midnight…”
So vain. With lame, lame hair.