I’ve been enjoying my new haircut from Images Salon in Poolesville. It’s breezy. It’s fun. It’s care-free.
I flattered myself that I resembled a heavier Marilyn Monroe, only brunette, and well, er, not so decomposed.
I’ve received several compliments on my new hair-do…though I always take them with a grain of salt. I don’t know why it’s so hard to receive compliments. I hand them out sincerely, so why do I doubt the sincerity of others’?
Upon greater reflection, maybe its because I know myself so well that I know all the imperfections and I simply assume that everyone else can see them too. And I’m not just referring to the obvious: the way one of my earlobes is at a different angle than the other, the way one of my nostrils is a different shape than the other, the way my skin is discolored from years of sun-damage, the way my feet are not only a manly size 11, but also a clown-like wide.
But also the not-so-obvious: The way I interrupt people mid-sentence, the way I talk too fast when I’m nervous, the way I talk too fast when I’m relaxed, the way I talk too fast when I’m sleeping, (…wait…maybe those belong in the obvious section)
Ok, so there isn’t a not-so-obvious section of imperfections for me. They are all obvious. That’s good, I’m like an open book. What you see is what you get. No surprises. (Unless I have Taco Bell for dinner. THEN you are in for surprises, I assure you.)
What the HECK was I talking about? Oh yeah, the sincerity of people’s compliments as it pertained to my new hair-do. Well, I THOUGHT my hair had a Marilyn Monroe quality to it. But, when I passed a mirror today, I had to stop because there, because staring straight back at me in disbelief, was none other than JIM MORRISON. He lives!
No, wait. Crap. That’s me.
Oh great. I look like Jim Morrison. On a bad hair day.
Only less decomposed.