Much Like The Mom Jean, Mom Hair Must Be Observed in its Natural Habitat
Observe the Evolution:
At one point, I looked like this:
Long, Blond hair and my teeth hadn't begun to mutiny.
My hair styles rapidly devolved into THIS:
That was an outfit the Easter bunny brought me when I was in the third grade. It was my favorite. The pants MATCHED. I think the haircut speaks for itself. It was actually an improvement over the bangs in the front - curly in the back look I had going for the 1st and second grade. There's picture I can't seem to locate right now of my holding a long, unattached to my scalp ponytail. Which is what started this whole mess.
I really don't know when this hair style came into being. I think my subconscious has blocked it. I did keep you from having to see the "rockin' around the clock" dancers on my fabulous sweater. You'll thank me later.
The hair though, dear Jesus, what was going on here? It was like I tried for a mullet and couldn't quite get there.
This must have been some time around 6th grade, right before I got braces. I couldn't spare you this splatter painted masterpiece. I hope it's a long time before you have to go to sleep, you might have nightmares about it. May I also point out my cruel attempt at "fixing" my bangs? It looks like a bat slept in the front of my head, I work up and saw it , and said "Huh, Kelly that looks fabulous, now go put on that multicolored shirt of awesomeness and your paint palette-swatch-knockoff-watch and get yourself to school!"
I was delusional.
Probably rabies from the bat.
This photo, conveniently dated 1989 on the back, is something my children will use at my competency hearing when I am 77. "Look, she wore her pants up around her armpits! Her hair could have been used as a satellite. It's blending into the walls! And the suspenders! Our mother had clearly lost her mind even then, judge!"
I won't fault the judge a bit when he commits me.
At least I don't have on a belt.
I call this one, idious-junior-highus because clearly, I have no freaking idea how ridiculous I look with curly hair. And if you can't recognize the patented pre-teen look of disgust on my face, then you haven't lived a full life.
Eventually, I got a little sense and straightened that lama perched atop my head.
There was this one time when I went to the beauty shop and requested that the stylist (and I use that term in the broadest sense of the word) "Make my hair look good so it can grow out." I had about 2 inches of hair left on my head. And the closer my hair gets to my scalp, the more long and oval my face gets. I basically looked like Bert. (That was the one and only time I have ever cried about a haircut. I probably should have done that more often, but like I said, I had no sense.)
As an adult, I haven't really learned my lesson. I continue to walk in Super Cuts and expect them to make me look like Cat Deely.
Need I mention that my hair is so thick that when it starts falling out after I've given birth, it's not noticeable?
This is what my hair looks like tonight. A day past needing to being washed, and in 100 degree Arkansas 4th of July weather.
I want to walk in somewhere and say, "Make my hair look good." And two hours later ,walk out, having said nothing else, and look my best.
People at Sparrow Hair - please fix this for me. I promise I'll say y'all a lot and let you have your way with me, as long as it includes highlights.
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Why am I posting unflattering photos of my hair disasters? I want to win something, of course.
In a few weeks (wOOt!) I'll be at Blogher and there's an awesome contest (sponsored by these awesome bloggers and hair folks: Foodmomiac, No Pasa Nada, Friday Playdate and Sparrow Hair.) to win a hair makeover. Which I desperately need. And I'm not afraid to beg.



















