*You are about to waste approximately 2-3 minutes of your life reading today's post. No, I cannot give that time back to you.
You've been warned.
I hate talking about my hair. God, it even bores me.
But today, it can't be ignored.
I employed the services of a semi-famous local artist, Brucie Von Custardsnatch, to try and capture the beauty that is me and my flowing locks of brunette beauty today.
I'll be selling this on e-bay later today. My reserve is $100, so warm up your credit cards.
No, seriously, when did my hair start hating me?
When did I forget how to deal with this knotted, frizzy pile that appears to the untrained eye as if a small family of squirrels has nested on my noggin?
It's not as if I'm not armed with a full arsenal of products.
This is what's in my bathroom at any given point. I may have a few more waaaaaay back in the cupboard.
I don't even have my "everyday" shampoo & conditioner pictured here.
A drawer in my bedroom for "backup" products.
I have no less than 6 products specifically designed to combat frizz.
Creams, sprays, gels, leave-in conditioners, pudding...
For future reference- pudding, while seeming like a good & tasty haircare product, is best used as a good &tasty snack.
I shall be hiding out in my home, probably ordering more products online, until this dilemma can be solved. I may be here a while.
If an agreeable solution cannot be found, both parties involved will go their separate ways, taking only what they brought into the relationship in the first place. My hair will get custody of the kids, I get the couch.
Seems fair to me.
As I seem to be as interesting as oatmeal with skim milk today & feel the need to post pictures documenting my amazingly dull week, I may as well post what we had for dinner the other night:
I'm catering tonight, maybe I'll have a good story tomorrow- something about my wig falling into the lap of the guest of honor while I'm putting out the shrimp balls.
Or something like that.
My lovely girl Mecca e-mailed and reminded me that I probably have nothing to complain about with my hair, when she has to deal with this monster on a daily basis:
And still, somehow the bitch always looks kitten-with-a-whip hot.
O.k. sweets, you win. My frizzies bow to yours.