So, like, you know how sometimes, some total bottom dweller will say something less than pleasant to you, and then, like 17 hours later, the most perfect comeback in the world will pop into your head, and it's all you can do not to dial the asshat's number and scream your response into the phone?
Right, so today, that didn't happen!
Let's start from the beginning today, poppets. Let's start with the fact that along with the absolute turmoil that comes with growing out your hair, you do occasionally get some added benefits. Like being able to put it up! Hi! Fun! I havenít been able to put up my hair in ages and ages, but today I started playing with it and lo! Behold! I drew up the front and sides, and left the back down in a mass of curls and waves and tufty goodness. Except, I did it all piece-y and alterna-chic-y, with an intricate bit of crossover-ness on the part, so that it looks all modern and fun, and not at all like Elaine in the early years of Seinfeld. Ok? Are we grasping the amount hair goodness that I'm exhibiting today, poppets?
Enter the Piranha. Oh, he's a wise guy, this one. He earns more than God, see, so suddenly, he thinks his second name is Jehovah. He's got an acid tongue, throwing personal barbs around the office like so many confidence-deflating darts. See, he's mean, my lovelies. There is no winning smile to show he's kidding when he tosses poison at your face. He's a truly odious man!
I walked in this morning with a smile and a swagger, feeling shiny and brilliant with my coif and my accessories and my irresistibly touchable outfit. My confidence is high, there's a smile on my face, and suddenly, I hear a hiss, just loud enough for most of North America to pick up...
"Oooh! Bad hair day today, Mare?"
And, see, Scarlett was late coming home to Tara this month, poppets, and when Scarlett's late, her friends the Whore and the Moan get together and take up residence in my brain to wait up for her, building up all this anger and snappishness that really, just Is. Not. Pretty.
So I shot back, quick as you please, "Listen, peckerhead! You wanna back up a few paces, because your hardware store cologne is starting to peel the paint off the wall, and everyone who sits near you is gonna need an iron lung soon. Oh, and that big, fat piece of chunky gold you've got hanging from your wrist? Yeah, it's real, but it's so ugly, I'm surprised any jeweller had the face to take money for it, because seriously? That kind of visual travesty should be outlawed. And don't go talking about my hair, mister, when you're currently sporting something the average surfer tries to catch off the coast of Hawaii. Ok? Hair that big went out with molester moustaches and men named Rex in three-piece polyester suits. So step off, jackass! And go brush your teeth, cuz you're displaying last night's dinner!"
No, seriously! I said that!
Ok, well, I said some of that. Oh, alright.None of it actually came out per se... but maaaan... if looks could kill...
Oh, yeah, baby. I've got me some Evil Eye today. I gave him a look that burned fire to his very soul. Don't be messing with the Italian, ladies and gentleman. Not when she's wielding The Look! Oh yeah. He knew where I was coming from. Oh, he knew.
Bastard. I have totally wicked hair today.
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