Meg wrote recently about how easy it is to spot out…”Special Boys” at places like the Coffee Garden because they always have product in their hair at all times. I’m even referred to in this instance because I have spiky hair. Maybe we should all consider the possibility that those “Special Boys” aren’t really special at all and that they just have bad hair. Like me. Not that I’m not special or anything.

When I sat down at the Dandelion Salon, the stylist laughed and said, “Wow, you have really straight hair.” You have to smile and nod at these kinds of statements, even though it’s sort of like someone coming up to you and saying, “Wow, you’re really fat” or “Geeze, you sure look like a woman.”

I replied, “I know, yeah, I do. Cool.” That’s my way of saying, “Let’s not talk about it. Cool.” At that point I was still just planning on trimming my hair because I had this idea I could be like Charming in Shrek; I’m blond, after all. But then she starts in, “Your Mom must have hated doing your hair when you were little. I bet it just sticks straight up in the air!”

And you know? It does stick up straight in the air. Like a DANDELION. After that comment I realized how futile it would be to grow my hair out. There isn’t a product in the world that can tame my thinning, very straight hair so I told her, “Yeah, I have some bad hair.” She corrected me immediately and said, “Not bad. Difficult.” As though saying ‘bad’ in front of my hair might hurt its feelings.

I reluctantly told her to cut it short again because it would be better to have short spiky hair than to look like Phil Spector.

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