Here's my little drama about my mom giving me highlights last night. Yes, this is a dramatization, meant only for comedy, I didn't actually do this lol Not so much about me as just a short story. Just bored at work and entertaining myself lol Don't even care if anyone reads this lol


"I'm a Barbie Girl, in a Barbie World..."

The song plays in my head as I stare in the mirror.

I think:

Oh my god...

My hair.

It's yellow.

And copper.

And it's... yellow.

So much for trusting my mom with highlights, I sigh. What on earth was she thinking? I knew she used to smoke pot but that was supposed to be before I was born... Right? Free love, 60's-70's, flower child, freedom of expression, all that crap. Hmm... Maybe I should rethink when she quit smoking. I didn't notice a smell in the house. Huh.

Nah, she couldn't have, she's too tense and snippy. Maybe I SHOULD get her to smoke pot. She might relax a little bit. Wonder how you find out someone knows someone who knows someone anyway.

Blech, what do I care?

My hair is yellow.

Hmm.

Does that make me dumber, I wonder. Since blondes are supposed to be dumb, does being a yellow bleach blonde make me mentally "handicapped." Or what does Mencia call it... Bleh haven't seen it in too long. Don't remember.

It was funny though, very funny.

I pick and pull a long strand of hair up.

Well damn. I'm screwed, I smirk at myself. Completely totally fu...

How'd it turn out, mom yells up the stairs.

Oh, I say, Oh it's um... It's interesting.

Interesting? She says, the worry creeps into her voice.

Oh yes... Very. You better not freak out.

Freak? Why freak? How bad is it?

Well... Let's say Barbie'd be jealous.

I walk down the hall, slowly, each step heavier than the last, the tension building in my stomach. Thump thump thump, beats my heart.

The slow walk down the yellow mile. Heh, that's funny, the yellow mile. Like the book by Stephen King. Only yellow. Heh.

Oh yeah wait, yellow mile walk, don't laugh, this is serious, death to my hair sort of thing.

I start to giggle.

Damn, stop that, this is serious. Your hair is ruined! It's yellow! It's Paris Hilton on a good day!

I let out a squeal of laughter, stopping dead in my tracks.

Wait. I frown.

This is sad. Very sad. This is the death of an era.

Remorse. Composed yet distraught oh the agony! I stumble down the hall, clasping my heart in a melodramatic faint, and collapse. Agony, oh the agony!

It didn't hurt though. I tilt my head; I shrug. Hmm, who cares.

I lay staring at the ceiling. Is that a cobweb? Gross.

Guess I should get up. The floor is kinda comfy though.

Deep heavy sigh, dragging myself to an upright position.

Hair. Like straw.

Oh no, straw.

Cows eat straw. There's a dairy farm near here. What if the cows see me? What if they eat my hair? WHAT IF THEY EAT ME? I gasp, flattening myself to the wall. Cows. Cows of death. Cows of hell. Red glowing eyes staring at my head of straw hungrily! I clasp my hands on the head and whimper.

But cows aren't evil. Sigh. No glowing eyes, no dramatic bizarre end to me. Too bad, could have been fun.

I shake my head and continue down the hall slowly. Beat, beat, beat of my heart. I wonder if anyone else could hear that. The steady beat of my heart. I wonder if a vampire would. It is near Halloween.

What if a vampire DID hear my heart beating? What if I turn around right now and behind me in a black cloaked figure with white shining fangs, and pure black eyes, hovering off the ground waiting to pounce!

I stop and contemplate my demise. No one would see this end coming, that's for sure.

Goodbye cruel world!

I turn my head slowly, eyes shut tight and slowly, carefully peer behind me.

An empty hall. Geez. Won't anyone cut me a break with the dramatic death thing?

Rolling my eyes I walk down the rest of the hall and begin to creep downstairs.

What if mom hates my hair? Well, of course she will, but what if she really hates it? She might go into a rage... The kitchen is right there. There are knives in the kitchen. Big sharp knives.

What if she cuts off my head! I grasp my neck, eyes wide with fear.

Mom, I whisper. Mom... Don't freak out okay? My hair isn't that bad really. Just need to go get it fixed. It's not that bad, really I swear.

I tip toe down, slowly, searching for a sign of her. Mom? I squeak. Mom are you there?

Quietly walking into the living room I see her sitting in her chair, straight back, hands gripping the armrests. Like a queen... Like... Bloody Mary...

I swallow hard.

Oh, hey, let me see, she says her tone light, airy.

It's really not that bad, I mutter.

Hmm, she sighs. Well... We'll go get it fixed tomorrow it's not that big of a deal.

Really?

Yes, really, I think we just used the wrong shade. Not a big deal, she smiles.

I sigh, hugging her.

Well what's this for? She laughs.

I'm so glad you didn't cut my head off mom.

Cut your...? What on earth are you talking about?

Um... Nevermind, you don't want to know...