Mulletude

This post is for Joansy, should she happen upon it.

I had a good haircut. Better than that--it was a great haircut. I didn't think Tanya could possibly fuck up her own original work, but when I went back to her for a trim, by golly, she did.

Let's just say "long layers" does NOT mean "hack the top layer so fucking short even Susan Powter would be impressed by it."

Let's add insult to injury by noting my hair is thin, fine and naturally curly. This doesn't mean I have luxurious curls that rival Pantene ads. This means my hair bends and waves and ringlets however it damn well pleases, whenever it damn well pleases. And I live in Missouri, and it's now June, so my attempts at straightening with a blow-dryer and various types of "product" are futile. And anyone with curly hair knows the shorter it is, the more readily it curls.

So the top layer draws up, while the bottom layer hangs loose for a while and curls at the bottom.

Business in the front...party in the back.

Can you feel the mulletude emanating from my skull?

The possibilities are endless. I can let the mullet run free and look like an asshole. (Or a Midwestern Mom--even worse. Just because I am one doesn't mean I have to look like one.) I can clip the sides up and back and look like...an old woman trying to look younger. I can pull the bottom into a ponytail and look...like a mushroom person from Mario Bros.

I could shave my fucking head and pretend Sinead O'Connor is making a huge comeback. HUGE.

Or I could just wait for it to grow out and in the meantime construct a Tanya voodoo doll, which I will not only give a mullet of her own, but sagging boobs.