Moi Lolita

It's the beginnings of a MidLife Crisis.

That's the only possible explanation for the drastic measures taken yesterday to cover up the grey hairs I've been finding more frequently lately. Not only did I walk into the hairdresser's with nary a qualm, I walked in and asked for not just a trim, but a full-on change of style and color.

Those of you that are familiar with my phobia of hairdressers from previous blog entries realise that this is akin to me walking into the gyno's office and asking for instantaneous insemination NOW!

Not only did I brazenly, wantonly sashay into the hairdreser's and ask for zee works, I even had a photo of what I wanted more or less. Which is where, you fair reader, might begin to question my sanity

What chick in their right mind walks into a beauty salon with a picture of a Victoria's Secret model and says "I want to look like that, only more mahogany."

My boss's little daughters didn't recognize me last night.

I have bangs, people.

I haven't had bangs since I was 12.



Every time I glance past a mirror I do a double take. I also find that, while the bangs are giving me the feeling of constantly having my hair in my face (because it is, just that it's at eyebrow level now), I had developed a weird little physical tick where I would use my hair to avoid direct eye contact. The bangs are making this more difficult, requiring me to grasp the longer hair from the back and use it as a veil across my face.

On the plus side I apparently look younger now. Like 12 apparently. If the bangs trick worked for everyone, plastic surgeons would be out a considerable amount of work.


Humbert Humbert eat yer heart out.