I cut my bangs yesterday without wearing my reading glasses. I turn 45 in a week. I have a lot on my mind; so these posts just sometimes flow out of me.
My friend over at DeBie Hive called me prolific. Bless her heart – she’s very smart and I love her, but she doesn’t realize that this is just my brain blathering and blathering. If it happens to make sense or appeal to people then we’ve got ourselves a deal.
So many of these blog posts just come to me without warning. It’s like I’m all ladiedah la walkin’ the dog… lala laaalalaa ladiedah “you’re getting old…” blammo.
Hair coloring dates back to like prehistoric times. Pteradactyls, perhaps the most vain of all the “dinosaurs” were known for their amazing kaleiscopic plumage and coiffures. They used to grind stones and herbs in their naturally occurring salt lead acetate ear wax. Here is a picture of a pteradactyl I just found on the National Geographic archive site with a ‘do (whose roots clearly need touch-ups):
The thing is, I have been coloring my hair since prehistoric times. I started to go gray, thanks to my
Greco-Roman noble Irish heritage in my teens. I remember plucking out the buggers in my bathroom when I was 18.
“Don’t do THAAAAAAT! They’ll come back and avenge their kin!!” I heard Cleopatra whisper.
“Shaadap, Cleo. I’ve got problems. If I’m going gray now, imagine — IMAGINE what I’ll look like a week before I’m 45,” I hissed.
“Oh, you’ll do what I did: you’ll cut your bangs. You’ll want to think you look like Zooey Daschenel, whoever the hell that is, but you’re really just gonna look like you, hiding your Elevens and denying your age. I did the bangs when I hit 43; I don’t know what’s taken you so long… look at all the art they drew of me – the birdmen and catgoats… and me… with my perfect hair.” she said.
Then she was vapor. Or was it me, did I have the vapors?
Anyway, she was right. I cut my bangs and I look nothing like Zooey Daschenelung. My Elevens are hidden, for now, until my bangs grow too long and start to grab on to my eyebrows or each other and then part thus exposing my Elevens or what I am now coining as “Forehead cleavage.”®www.mollyfield.com – I just made that up, “forehead cleavage.” It’s good… it’s what ALL ANCIENT MIDDLE-AGED WOMEN WANT THE SPACE BETWIXT THEIR EYEBROWS CALLED FROM NOW ON.