Cue up the Dead Milkmen- “…It’s just you and me, punk rock girl!”
OK, so I’ve never pushed the punk rock fold. Not even close. Maybe the Biker fold, the time I rode from California to South Dakota on the back of a boyfriend’s Harley. Maybe the Librarian fold when I have my hair in a bun and my glasses on… maybe the Hippie Chick fold when I followed the Dead (Man, I’ve had a busy life for a young thirty-something mama!), but about as close as I’ve come to Punk Rock is seeing Primus at a tiny club in San Jose, and a sicko appreciation for the Dead Milkmen. Until tonight.
My regular hair cutting gal was all booked up, and since we are leaving at O-dark-thirty on Wednesday morning, I needed to get in bad, so tonight I went to a colleague of hers. The cut is cool, and she flat-ironed it and “textured” the bottom, which as far as I can tell meant jaggedy scissoring the edges to be all spikey- you won’t be able to tell as soon as I wash it and it’s curly again. But the COLOR- Oh my stars!! She highlighted me, and boy howdy, I’m colorful! It took her two hours just to do the foil, and my hair is a United Nations of colors; lots of blonds, my natural brownish color, strawberry, and some total ORANGE that she was saying would match my kids hair! It’s kinda freaky, but since the cut is good, I really can roll with wacky color- it doesn’t last forever like a bad cut. But I LOOK way Punk Rock, way edgier than I am!
When I got home, Jeffrey was still up, and he stopped when he walked in the kitchen and just stared at me.
“Mom, you look PRETTY!” Awwww…. Nothing like a boy who loves his Mama.