I pasted my head yesterday. And no, that's not some euphemism that would make your granny blush, or anything. I was trying to color my hair using henna for the first time, and I can only effectively describe the process to you as follows:
- You decide to bake cookies. So first you add the flour and sugar. Then you add the egg and butter. Then you stir and stir and stir.
- Then you go away and forget about the batter for about eight hours.
- But then, when you're confronted with the batter in the bowl the next morning, you think, "Ya know, I wasn't so excited about making cookies in the first place."
- So you mush it all through your hair.
- Top off your new look with a Saran Wrap turban, a dollop of whipped cream and a maraschino cherry!
That's pretty much what it was like.
Sundae toppings optional.
But we do strange things for beauty, don't we?-- among them pasting our heads. I mean, the efforts themselves look so ridiculous, it's a wonder we even bother. We rip out hair by the roots here but plant new ones there. We buff and peel and polish. And highlights-- we pull teeny strands of hair through a plastic cap so we look like some sort of dish scrubber.
This is fashion.
Still, the henna promises to keep my hair a non-mouse-brown while simultaneously not turning it the consistency of an overused Brillo pad. So it seems worth the effort. Plus, you know, ancient Egyptians supposedly used it to go glam for their big pyramid openings and barge-rides and stuff.
I mean, if Cleopatra could hang out on the boat, head covered in a neck-straining 10 pounds of paste and whatever ye olde Saran there was back then-- ("Use PapyrWrap-- seals extracted organs and keeps 'em fresh for the Afterlife!")-- I suppose I'm certainly not above it.
Anyway, it's not like I've got Mark Antony watching the whole thing and saying:
"Blechius, Cleo! Pro plurrimi decorus mulier en Egypt, vos certus es grotesqueus en solarius!"
(Translation: "Damn, Cleo! For the most beautiful woman in Egypt, you sure are ugly in the morning.")
Of course, Cleo would also have been likely to respond:
(Loosely translated: "Talk to the hand, you backside of a horse.")
I like to look on the bright side of these things.
So, folks, I've shared my hair-dough tale-- tell this noggin-paster-- what have you done for the sake of looks or fashion that you find yourself chuckling at?
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