While I prepared for work this morning, I looked in the mirr...no, I gazed in the mirror and was horrified by what my hair was doing, or more importantly, not doing.
It was mopped out.
It looked like a raccoon had crawled on top of my head and died sometime during the night. It was flat on top and poofed on the sides.
It was embarrassing as hell....and this was after I fixed it.
Luckily, I had an appointment with my stylist. I showed up and she gave me bug eyes. And the bug eyes were not from my hair, but because I was a day early.
Instead of waiting a day, I decided to wait through her actual appointment until she could cut my hair. I had time, so I perused the fashion mags stacked between the chairs. I found a do that I thought might be nice to do. As I looked at the picture I could see myself in it. And why not?
I'm in shape, not terribly disfigured, and will soon have that same haircut.
What it would feel like to have a stylist, designer clothes, and tons of money for looking the best I can? I know the looks to give: serious eyes, stern brow, and jaw clinched tight for maximum square jaw line. Then there's the I'm so comfortable I laugh so that you can see my crow's feet smile with the head tilted back ever-so-slightly. Oh, and don't forget the "I can't remember if I shaved today or not," scruffy look. See, I know how to pose, now where's my mineral water?
"Casey, we're ready," she says and I fall back to Earth from my grandiosity.
It's just a do in a magazine, but damn I worked it for a couple of seconds.
Hopefully s o m e o n e will like it. Anything's better than dead, half-flat raccoon.
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