I have a hair appointment today. As usual, I will take in a photo like this:
And I will tell my adorable, gorgeous, young hairdresser/stylist/designer that this is what I want my hair to look like. Uh huh. And I will be serious. Then she will say something real like, "Well, are you sure you want to make that kind of a time commitment toward daily hairstyling? Because you realize it took 5 stylists and 4 makeup artists 12 hours to create that, not to mention 5 years of pilates 3 times a day?" Yeah.
Then I say, "Well, how about this one?"
And because my stylist is looking forward to a very large tip, she doesn't smirk. She just says, "Well, this is brown and the other is blonde. Which do you prefer?"
And I say, "This?"
She will just smile. And I will say, "Oh, I'm just kidding. Let's do it like last time."
And I will leave with highlighted hair and a suburban mom blowout, cursing Angelina Jolie and her perfectly coiffed, glamorous ilk.
Welcome to my dreamworld.
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