So somehow I have ended up with a "do me" haircut. No, I do not mean the "come hither" kind. But the kind that 3/4s of all women have. The kind where you have to get up in the morning, take a shower, and spend 45 minutes with a blowdryer.
When I was 16 I got converted to makeup, a late bloomer, but at the behest of my stylish mother I caved to trying out "makeup that didn't look like I was wearing anything at all".
Converted to waxing. In some areas that won't be mentioned and lets face it, after the age of 14 they don't actually make bathing suits that can be worn without. Unless you are Swedish.
Now I have a handbag.
And perfume.
and it's not just girl world I've converted to but full blown Parisian status.
But getting back to what has brought on this blog entry: my haircut that requires a blow dryer.
I know why I resisted for so long. I have flights of "needing a change" (generally boyfriend related) and "I could try that, enter adult woman world" never end well. It is nice in the beginning, I love the style, pay the hairdresser, buy all the products, go home and two days later I look like a monkey with a blowdryer. Flailing arms, burning legs after momentarily setting down the still-on blow dryer, brushing and curling with the right then switching hands because my left hand is only meant to steady things - not actually perform movements, arms feeling like I've just done some sort of workout because they have been holding a blowdryer above my head for 50 minutes. And a 12 year old bobbed school girl haircut at the end instead of the sleek A-line haircut that frames my face.
Well, I'll just put a picture up so we remember what my great new haircut looked like before it died a loud, blowdryer screaming, expletive filled death. Thank you to my pregnant asian hairdresser. I would prefer an asian baby.
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