executive dos. and don'ts

"honey, your hair looks fabulous. this executive order i am signing makes your hairdo a national treasure."

when your hair shape approaches that of lady bird johnson's, it's time for a new look. i am certain lyndon found it attractive on her, but i prefer something less mushroom-cloudlike and more natural looking. so, imagine my shock when i woke up one day to discover that overnight i had somehow quite mysteriously acquired a coiff akin to that of a claymation mom, something like davey's mother's from davey and goliath. no need for any sort of fixative. no aquanet, VO5, brylcreem or vidal sassoon CFCs required. clay doesn't move. unless touched by skillful hand and sculpting tool.



it really has little to do with vanity. and although i do own a very nice wooden handled brush, i cannot say when the last time was i actually brushed my hair. i put my fingers through it if i have to go up to school, to the store, the dentist or a funeral, but other than that, it is free range. i gave up a long time ago trying to do anything other than acquiesce to my unruly cowlicks.

i cut my own hair because i do not care to spend the time or money at a salon or barber shop. this has made me all but ambidextrous and a spatial orientation genius, having to look at the back of my head using 2 mirrors, holding scissors with equal agility and precision in both hands, double over-undering the really hard to reach and uncooperative curls behind the ears and at my nape.

my saving grace, because i have a really "interesting" texture along with fairly thick hair, i can get away with a lot. cut a hole in the back? pas de probleme. i can easily cover the offending area, with no one the wiser, much like a west bengali tiger pit would be concealed with intricately woven branches and leaves littering the surface.



sleight if hand and trompe l'oeil is the name of the game. my hair is every bit a las vegas illusion. philip glass would kill to compose music for me. the ticket lines would wrap around the mgm grand if only i could charge people to look at it, maybe then i wouldn't flinch at salon prices. maybe then i could retire my pinking shears and give up my bathroom contortion forever. then and only then would i appeal for an executive pardon for unintentionally having impersonated a dead first lady.