I sit waiting. Shaggy and unpruned. Like a country rose bush gone wild. Daily morning ritual of mousse in hand trying desperately to tame the tresses. Curling iron. Flat iron. Blow dryer. Each one in command of the mess. Each one trying to control and create a pleasing look. Each one failing. Failing not on their own merits, but on the lack of a good subject. No style. No texture. Too short. Too long.
I sit waiting. Ripped out page in hand. Can my mop top be transformed into this shiny professional beauty? Can I look like her? Can I take off ten years? Will my whole life be changed with this new style?
I sit waiting. Fidgeting in my seat. I contemplate. I know the advertisement has
disillusioned me, like countless others. Better life…more friends…more confidence…more appeal… All with one amazing product, one article of clothing, or one hairstyle. I know the reality, but I have hopes.
I sit waiting. I eagerly jump to the sound of my name. I saunter to the chair as I exclaim, “Just a quarter inch trim, please,” as I crumble my picture and stuff it in my purse. My fears laugh at me as I think, ‘Foiled again!’ Maybe next time.