Forget Mother’s Day

Upon arriving at my house for a mother’s day lunch I prepared for my, gasp – shocker, Mother, my brother Zachary joyously proclaimed “Hi Sis! Happy Summers Day!”

My mother then proceeded to inform me that in an attempted compliment, he had sweetly told her, “Mom, you are almost as special as Sissy!”

The funniest thing about it though is how when he realizes he’s just stuck his foot in his mouth, he will try and cover it up with a really phony smile and say, “ha ha ha… just joking! You’re special.” But he’s only 7, so it is so transparent. And all I can think is, wow, I hope I am not that obvious when trying to take back things I actually meant. I’m in love with my brothers, especially melodramatic Zach.

In other news I dyed my hair. I know. You dye fabric and color hair, but I really seriously dyed my hair. The craptastic box o’ crappy dye does not deserve to be called “hair color.” Because that is not what it is. It is dye. It seduced me by being only $3 a box, and it is made by Revlon, and I mean, they are a beauty company. Not like Great Value hair dye or anything. I think it was this kind, although I could be wrong, I am too depressed to go dig the box out of the garbage. The color on the box was Ultra-Sunkissed-Blond. Because, although my hair is naturally blond, I have never had two adjectives categorically attached it. The box should have said, Unnaturally-Yarn-Yellow. Because then I would have seen the box and decided no adjectives attached to my hair are better than some adjectives. But perhaps the worst part about it is that it smells like when someone sprays cheap perfume to cover cigarette smoke….except instead of being Aunt Lorna’s apartment, or your friends automobile, it is all over my head. And then, because obviously, nothing puts a bad dye job in perspective better than a bad haircut, I went ahead and hacked away at my hair. Just to clarify, I have no beauty school training. *as if it weren’t painfully obvious*

I am trying to be a trooper. But I am this. close. to tears. Pictures to follow after I’ve inhaled a bottle of Prozac.

ok, so maybe i’m being a teensy bit dramatic. It is just hair. And it does seem to be getting better with each washing. In the mean time, it’s actually kind of funny. Sometimes when I go look in the mirror to see if I can watch it fading, I point and laugh a little… but then I get my feelings hurt and have to stop.