Call me a victim of the “self-esteem movement” but I love my hair. Like that emoji that has hearts for eyes. All other features of my body are prone to scrutiny. Eyes- meh. Butt- bleh! Teeth- yech! Boobs- nightmare. I could go on, but the point is that my love for my hair defies logic and reason.
“My nail beds suck”
In high school I was convinced that I would win “Best Hair” despite the fact that only about 15% of the student body knew of my existence. “My hair speaks for itself” I thought. Some Hawaiian girl won. She did have great hair, I was upset, but it made complete sense. I’m terrible at hair-do’s, but honestly my hair is pretty. So. Yeah. It is.
I’m going to confess something to you. I keep a secret folder in iPhoto called “Embarrassing Selfies” where I store all the pictures I’ve snapped of my good hair days. Sometimes, after doing my hair, I can’t bear that it would go undocumented. I also can’t bear to seem so self-obsessed that I would instagram pictures of my hair. So, into the folder they go to die (until now!) I finally got highlights and arguably the best haircut of my life and I am physically pained that some days the only people who will see my hair are my children. They are much less inclined to compliment me and really inclined to use my hair as a tool to wipe boogers on. Sometimes the cat eats my hair if she’s sitting behind me on a chair, but no “dang girl, yer hair looks good!”
I spruced up my selfie collage with a few snazzy touches so you would all know I don’t take myself too seriously. Now you know. Kaley. Totally obsessed with her hair and yet utterly disappointed in her boobs.