My roots are showing and I don’t care

About five inches worth, with flecks of grey for seasoning. No one seems to notice, or care, or maybe they do, but are just being polite. My natural mousiness has reminded me of my impoverished state.   I can’t afford to get them done, and there’s no way in hell I’d do them myself. I tried once, twice, and three times a-brassy. Brassy on the verge of orange, actually. Very few blondes can get away with self-processing. And the ones who do don’t even need to colour it in the first place. They’re actually blonde.

Blondes, real ones, that is, are on the verge of becoming extinct, according to this BBC article.  Something about a recessive gene. True blondes only make up for about five percent of the entire population. These researchers also believe that the fake ones are to blame, since bottled-blondes are apparently more attractive to men than the natural ones.  Maybe it’s because we looky trampy, especially once the roots start to show. I notice I get more looks and compliments on my hair when I have roots. The Courtney Love look works for me.

Well, I’m not totally fake. As a kid, my hair was lighter,. My natural colour is not quite brown, not quite blonde, just in between, like dirty dishwater or weak milky tea. And I’ve tried colouring it dark brown, even reddish, but those colours make me look sick and pale. So blonde streaks it is, when I have have the cash. And not just any streaks. Few hairdressers know how to do them right. Most just dye it, so the roots show after two weeks, or they choose a garish tone that makes me look cheap and over-processed – shpank me, missy, let’s start breedin’!

So what’s my point? Vanity? Do you really care about my roots? My point is, I don’t care! I must be getting old! I am turning into one of those people. If I were a man, I’d have stubble and long, greasy hair. I already have a pot belly, the Midas touch. Jeez, why I don’t I just start shopping for a trailer? Surrey’s not so far away.

Or maybe it’s just the student/writer thing. Yeah, that’s it, that’s not so scary. That’s kind of cool, actually, artistic and free-spirited. But I’m not folky enough for that. To pull that off, I need to shack up on the Drive, get myself some hippy friends, wear hemp with patched jeans, shop at a co-op, and become vegan.

Crap. This new idenity-thing isn’t working.  I’m just broke, lazy, sick, depressed and … and… how can I finish that with a bang?
I’ll just blame my parents.

Peace out, dudes.