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Thursday, September 02, 2004

Every Day is a Good Hair Day

I have an announcement to make to my readers. I have kept this a secret for many reasons with one of the main reasons being that I don’t wish to provoke jealousy or give any of you the irrational idea that you could have what I have. Give it up, people, you just have to live with what you were born with and that’s that. It isn’t as if I asked for this and, to be perfectly honest with you, sometimes it is a curse. So don’t be too upset that you don’t have what I have. I have fucking beautiful hair; ask anyone who knows me.

I try to boost the confidence of other people who don’t have my natural gifts in the hair department. Just the other day I caught one of the young personal trainers at my gym primping in the mirror in the locker room. I sneaked up behind him and said, “You have beautiful hair.” He about jumped out of his skin. Compliments on your hair or any other body part are things you just don’t want to hear in a men’s locker room.

Having beautiful fucking hair comes with a heavy price tag. Sure, I was born with a wonderful gift but maintenance is both time consuming and tough on the pocket book. I spend $400 a week on my hair, not including shampoo, conditioner, root lifter, spritzer, mousse, spray, gel, and pomade. The $400 is just what I spend at the beauty parlor that I go to five days a week. They are closed on weekends. This may seem like a lot of money until you see my hair. When you see my hair you will agree that this is money well-spent; I’d call it a bargain.

I know what you are thinking. You are thinking that having great hair is no big deal if you can afford to shell out $400 a week. Do you actually think that I just write a check and “poof,” I have great hair? Think again, morons. It takes an incredible amount of work to have what I have. Most of you wouldn’t have the stomach to put up with what I put up with to have hair like mine. And besides, I don’t write a check; I do direct deposit.

Every weekday, rain or shine, I get up at 5 a.m. and make the one hour commute up north to Dolores’ Academy of Beauty and Nails. Dolores has been dead for years so Irma has been doing my hair since Dolores’ was electrocuted by a shorted-out hair dryer. So Irma washes and conditions my hair before my daily styling. When everything is perfect I go and sit under a dryer with the rest of the girls. This is the difficult part because you have to remain absolutely still for exactly one hour. I pass the time by gossiping and catching up with current affairs in People and The National Enquirer. I, like all of the other clients of Dolores’ Academy of Beauty and Nails, am an information freak.

I know it sounds exhausting, and it is. But when I walk out of that little corner of the strip mall I can walk with my head held up high because I know that I have fucking beautiful hair.

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