Crowning Horror-y

May the Baroness just be a tad capricious for a moment or two? While I'm fully aware that there is a lot of bad stuff going down in the world around us, there's something that is sticking in the noble craw, people, and I have to get it out.

Hair.

There, I've said it. Specifically, the hair of me. Specifically, the hair of me last evening when I had to attend a very important formal fundraising auction.

To give a bit of a backstory, I have had a great hairdresser. She has been with me through many tranformations, the latest of which was - ironically- the shaving off of my chemotherapy induced clumpy hair, and the subsequent grooming and architectural engineering of the new growth. Before I (voluntarily) lost my hair, it was naturally wavy, but definitely had a mind of its own and needed a strong hand and scorching hot flat iron to make it see the error of its every which way.

Now, my second hair is another matter entirely. While before, my hair might have been a bit of a weekend rebel, this new batch (which, don't get me wrong, I'm extremely thankful for) is a Class A, juvenile deliquent headed for a correction facility,bat-sh*t loco curl-o-rama. Which is kind of cool. But, the honeymoon period is now over, and I'm finding it a little frustrating to mould these locks into something even vaguely socially acceptable.

Which is where the good hair guru Jen came in. She was the Countess of Color, the Duchess of Drying, the Seductress of Straightening. I loved her. And then, selfish little her, she got pregnant and is now on maternity leave. For a whole selfish year. What is that woman thinking? So selfish.

Cut to yesterday. I already had the emsemble prepared, and the coupe de grace would be the hair. I admit, my ideas were a little lofty. I was thinking something loose, curly, sexy, kinda messy like a Julie Christie:

Exhibit A

(for Ahhh, isn't she just beautiful?)

What I ended up with instead was a cross between this:

Exhibit B
(for Blarg)

And this:

Exhibit C
(for Celtic Curls of Hell)

I know, I know, it's silly and shallow. But on the one night a year when I get to go out and feel like a really princess, why did I end up feeling like this?

Exhibit D
(for Don't Even Get Me Started)

Bah.

I wish you all good hair days for the week.

Affectionately,
The Baroness von Puli

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