Nevergirl’s

The one body part that I put through so much use and abuse has got to be my hair. You have never seen hair as ugly as mine. It doesn’t help that I only use a comb when I’ve a party to go to. During our latest trip to Cebu, I went three days without combing my hair. I just ran my fingers through my hair before running out the door. I looked like I’d gotten caught in a bombing, naturally, but that didn’t frazzle me much. At least, not then. Now, it does. I look at the photos from that trip, and I go, “What on earth was I thinking?”

See, the problem is not that I was born with ugly hair. I wasn’t. I have naturally straight, shiny hair that falls in the right places. How’d my hair go from that to this? Blame it on too much spare time, and too much willingness to believe everything homosexuals working in salons tell me.

October of last year, I actually had hair to make a classy bun out of when I hosted the Philippine Blog Awards for the Visayas.

January this year, I rocked this red dress with shoulder-length hair.

One terrible perm later, I ended up with boy hair. By March this year, this is how short my hair had become.

Oh, and yeah, you don’t have to tell me this is a really scary ‘do. I know. Believe you me, I know. Every time I look at this photo, I cringe. I must’av spent March in a state of despair. I can’t remember if I did, but I should have. Hair like that deserves agony of the constant kind. An exit alarm should sound every time I walk inside a salon. Otherwise, I’d walk out of every salon I enter looking like a modern-day version of the yeti.

Posted Big Sad |