Sunday, September 7, 2014

A Letter From My Hair, Re: Live Readings and Other Public Appearances

Because I now occasionally appear in public for reasons other than to purchase toilet paper and expired generic fig bars from the Korean grocery store near my house, my hair and I decided it was time she made a statement. My apologies in advance. 
To Whom It May Concern, i.e. Everyone With Eyes:  
I want to officially state that I regret my appearance at this function. To clarify, I don’t mean that I wish I wasn’t here today--Una cannot pull off bald, no matter what she may envision during her annual, self-pitying, and might I add horrifyingly inappropriate cancer fantasy. I mean that I regret the state I’m in.  
This morning, I was styled by an extremely chatty gentleman named Arturo, who had as much talent with a blow-dryer and he had valuable insights into the state of Gwyneth Paltrow’s "conscious uncoupling." Based on my appearance now, you might think that Una spent the rest of the day taking joyrides through car washes on the back of a Vespa that made a pit-stop at a magical fountain where she wished on an enchanted penny and accidentally exchanged scalps with 1970s-era Frank Zappa.  
I only wish this were true.  
The fact is, her afternoon involved nothing but a box of mini donuts, three back-to-back episodes of a Food Network show about how taffy is made, and a slow but unstoppable follicular downfall that I unwittingly perpetrated. I’d love nothing more than to explain exactly what happened, but honestly I blacked out for most of it. All I know is that one minute I was lying languidly against Una’s neck, curling ever so slightly so as to avoid the donut shrapnel shooting from her lips, and the next thing I knew I was frizzier than Phil Spector dry humping a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon.  
Flawless (I Woke Up Like This)
If Una could pull off a kicky fedora or a hijab, I wouldn’t even be writing this, but seeing as she is genetically hat-challenged, I felt it was important to come out, in public, and accept the blame for what would under kinder circumstances be one of the most Facebook-tagged days of her life. The truth is that I put the “sham” in shampoo, and am a disgrace to my brethren lower down on this surprisingly hirsute body. 
In closing, I am deeply sorry for my betrayal, and I hope that you can look past me, maybe to the fetching neon EXIT sign behind Una’s head, for the remainder of this truly unforgettable evening.

Yours limply,
Una’s hair

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1 comment :

  1. It's wonderful that your hair would, um, stand up and take responsibility in this way. Mine lets me take all the blame.

    ReplyDelete

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