Here I sit, just moments away from unleashing the truth of just how diabolical their litle schemes have been of late and what happens? My Ambien begins to kick in. Smart lil' buggers, I'm sure they have figured out a way to keep me eyelids from remainin' open, they have. They think that they can silence me, but they can't, I tell you.
My follicles, the whispery bits that lie atop me head, they are turnin' against me, AGAINST ME, I tell you!!!
You see, that it does seem as if perhaps my hair is having a bit of a perpetual temper tantrum. (and we blasphemously use the term lightly). I walk about as if I had glued orange hay to me head and attempted a cruel perm.
The worst part is that I sense a definite passive-aggressive quality to it. If I try to encourage the curl then I get these freaky (AND FRIZZY, I'M DAMNED TO HAVE YOU KNOW!!!)straight parts. What sense am I to make so such a thing?
BUT,-If I try to straighten these wicked tresses, to bring 'em into some sort of line or order I am met with such a fierce resistance, the sort to make me wonder if that is what the Capt'n felt on that blustery even'n on the Titanic's last list. I pick up me resolve, I do and, holding onto the bravery of those who have gone before, why Rosie and her Riveter, there, such images, they shall soldier us on another day, no?
This is what I do, I tell ya'. I try to straighten me waves and cruls, the wretched things and these damn waves and curves, straight from the hellish pit of fire, I tell you, they enter my hair straight up through the bottom, as if coming straight out of me. They are like weeds, I tell you, weeds in an otherwise perfectly respectable garden.
I, for one, have had my fill with the lot of them. Show me a cancer patient who is losing her hair and I will gladly give her mine and just draw a smiley face on my bald scalp. I'm sick of these shenanigans. Guess what, HairOfMine? I could get rid of you!!!! For Good!!!! Whaddya thinka' that?!
Goodnight! You'd better be behavin' by mornin!!