Yesterday, Chris posted a picture of his mullet. Now first, I want you to know that the mullet had left the building before I ever met Chris, or else I can assure you things would have gone very differently between us. Second, I now have a problem. You see, I have been threatening Chris with that mullet picture for years. Whenever we had a fight over something he had done (because obviously, I am the perfect wife in every way) I would tell him I was going to post that picture on the internet. Now that he's gone and done it himself, I need a new bargaining chip.
Third, I hate to be outdone. I don't have anything that can compare to The Mullet, but I did break out my old yearbooks and decided to share with you the Saga of the Bad Perms. Let's begin.
Here we are in seventh grade, a rollicking return to 1987, but pre-hott bangs from the previous picture.
This one really makes me cringe. Who in the hell let me do that to my hair, and who gave me that sweater vest and told me it was cool? This is clearly before I discovered the dual magic of the permanant wave and Aqua Net.
Eighth grade is mysteriously missing from the yearbook pile, you will have to extrapolate based on ninth grade.
This is from my Fluff Period. And also apparently from my fat horizontal stripes period. You have to admit, though, that it is an improvement from the "what died on my head?" bangs of the junior high era, previously documented.
Tenth grade, the fabulous Growing Out My Perm period, and thanks to the vagaries of the universe, a special color shot just for you.
I like how the combination of straight and curly hair gives it a nice two-toned look.
Eleventh grade, the beginning of my "arty" period.
Also apparently my "hair flip" period. That shirt was at least two sizes too big for me, but I loved it and wore it all the time anyway because it had a vaguely asian design including dragons that I thought was totally in keeping with my new, "arty" self. In fact, I think I still have that shirt. I should break it out, it was hot on me.
Finally, senior year.
Why yes, I did cut my bangs myself with a butter knife, why do you ask? This dates from right at the end of my good little girl phase (read, my whole life) and just before I embarked on a year or so of being all wild and crazy and doing super daring things like smoking and drinking some beer (ok, and some dumber stuff that we won't go into). I was wild! I was a rebel! I was, um, still a big dork and just didn't know it. And then I got bored and went back to being (mostly) a good little girl.
And with that, y'all, I have to confess that I am so bored with myself right now that I could just spit. I've just let myself get sucked into this miasma of molars and nearly-constant fussing and pleading with the kid to eat anything at all other than cheerios and now biting just for fun and variety, and I don't see any way out except to keep on trudging through and hope the end is near. Meanwhile, everything I write reads like a shopping list to me and I haven't had a remotely creative thought in weeks. So, I'm going to make you do the work. We'll do that old gag where you leave me questions and next week sometime I will answer them. Of course, being how I am and all, I will give some completely honest and accurate answers and the others I will create out of whole cloth. Get yours in early though, as I reserve the right to sink into a mild depression and stop answering at any point. (I'm kidding, kidding! About the depression, not about the not answering.) Sounds fabulous and super right? I thought so, now go!