Monday, March 31, 2008

My Disassociative Identity


Every time I leave the security of my home, and venture out into public, I take on a new persona. A disassociative identity, if you will. I am no longer a busy mom of 5, career woman, and full time college student. When I leave the house, I become...

The Hair Police.

I can spot a home dye job a mile away. In fact, I walk down the home hair color isle just to watch people try to pick out their own hair color...that's some funny shit right there! Come on, people, do you honestly think that just because the color on the box says 'light ash blonde' that it is going to turn your jet black hair that color? Common sense, people, common sense! Go ahead and dump that color on your head...then you can pay me twice as much to correct it when you end up looking like Ronald McDonald.

I also can't help but to critique every hair cut I see. Not to blow my own horn, but I can cut one mean inverted bob. That is one cut that is easy to screw up, and most of the ones that I see are a hot mess! If I am in a situation where I have to look at someone's screwed up hair cut for too long, I will actually start to envision how I would fix the cut.

This disassociative identity of mine drives my kids crazy. Not so much because I am always pointing out bad hair and making semi-rude comments about the hair, but more because I have rubbed off on my kids. Yes, they are Deputy Hair Police! They, too, will point out the folliclely challanged. They will spout off with comments like,

"Why would anyone walk around with their roots grown clear down to their ears?!"

It's almost like a type of schitzophrenia. I can't ignore the little voices in my head that say,

"Holy crap, look at her jacked up highlight!"

I try to ignore them...but they won't go away...I think I need medication...I've been like this for almost 20 years now...I want the voices to stop!

OK, so maybe they aren't real voices. Maybe I just can't leave work at work. Maybe I just live in a town full of inept hair designers; some who actually think the mullet is still in style.

Or maybe I just want to save Springfield, one bad 'do at a time!

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