Wednesday, December 30, 2009

New Year's Do

You can't be very vain if you post a picture of yourself with dye on your hair, no make-up on and wrinkles/fat/sausage fingers on glorious and puffy display.
Talk about your full frontal nudity.
This, sisters, is what it's all about.
What we go through to make yourselves, if not beautiful, at least not abominably hideous.
The other day my friend Lynda and I had a skunk competition. 
That's where we have another friend, Leah, look closely at our hairlines to determine who has the most gray roots.
Incredibly, I was not the winner.
Lynda, mortified, ran home crying and drowned her sorrows in the nearest bottle of Ravishing Red with Palest Golden Strands.
(Lynda does have really great hair. She is a stunning strawberry blonde with wide blue eyes and china white, luminous skin. She looks 20 years younger than she does. If she wasn't so damned nice, I'd hate her stinky guts.)
Leah was the judge at this particular skunkfest because she just had her spikes done. Yes, Leah has spikes. This salesman we know, whose idea of a good time is a bunch of smelly old men hunkered down in a hunt shack, makes fun of Leah's hair. 
He's always saying, "Leah, I see that cow was licking your head again." 
He thinks this is very funny.
(Honestly, I do too. Nothing against Leah's hair, because it's gorgeous, but the thought of a cow licking her head paints a picture that pitches me a giggle-fit.)
Anyway, where was I?
Oh yes, the skunk competition.
With Lynda's roots back in the land of the blonde, I was the office skunk.
Not that I personally care.
I can't see them.
Dave, however, is taller than me and it's not uncommon for him to be staring at the top of my head, thinking whether it would be smart to tell me I am venturing into skunk territory.
Today I went to the hairdresser's to get a trim and the barbarette announced, "You got some roots going on there, girl. About an inch of them."
The only reason I didn't deck her is because she called me "girl."
So. Fine. 
I came home, a box of Natural Instincts Hazelnut/Noisette Medium Brown in hand and prepared to do the nasty.
Oh, and it is nasty, isn't it?
Dyeing my hair is right up there with changing the kitty litter.
All that chemical smell and mess and black stains on my face is boogery.
When it drips down my face I look remarkably like Elvis.
In his bloated years.

P.S. Another reason I had to get all dolled up is because, wait for it, I've been DISCOVERED. OMIGAWD... the QUEEN of Muskoka Bloggers is Jenn Jilks ( and she ADDED MY BLOG to her list of other Muskoka blogs. And she WROTE TWO COMMENTS on my blog. And I'm in SUCH a TIZZY. I could die right now a happy woman.
Instead, I'm dyeing right now.
Oh! There's the buzzer. Time to rinse!


  1. HA! I decided to let my quite advanced silver (if it sparkles, it ain't gray) grow out. It's over an inch now, and I just don't care. :)
    I'll let you know when I cave.


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