So what's new.
Mirror. Hair with highlights. Short hair. I was that girl who'd rather have a real tattoo than color her hair. Black is beautiful. And streaks do nothing.
Well maybe two weeks ago, streaks did have some use. I (pronounced longer with the 'ah' heavy) still act on impulse. It is the unplanned day that marks red in your calendar, your one-way ticket to a holiday away from the monotony of things. You look at your hair and the crazy streaks seem to dance awkwardly under the light.
My mother says they don't look good on me. She says I wear my hair like an old woman wears hers.
The hairdresser said it's called lemon-something. But I don't recognize the color variations. They all look the same to me, dull copper.
Jay, after I ruined dinner with mirror segues, says I'll get over it.
Ate Aileen asked if I had highlights. I answered in my irritated tone, yes.
Violin guy Franz Lanzaderas - 'upon chancing up on each other while trying to get drunk on a Friday night' - sent numerous SMS. He just had highlights, too. Blue.
I sent SMS to my closest friends while sitting indifferently on those cushioned chairs in hair parlors,
hey, im having highlights. kewl (kewl?) :) mwahugs! i miss you guys.