I'm laying here, deeply rooted. Tightly curled and slightly split at the ends, she hasn't cut me in a while. I've got a pretty good place up here, near the top, just to the left of those horrendous layered bangs. Thankfully I missed being a part of that mistake. I'm slightly disgusted to discover a dandruff flake....does she not know what Head and Shoulders is!? She certainly knows how to torture me, drowning me in clouds of hairspray, and gobs of gel. She burns me daily with her vicious blow dryer, set on high heat of course for maximum pain and suffering. I am a damaged piece of hair. I was once dyed a hideous shade of orange, labeled "Cinnamon Sunrise". Was she brain dead when she chose that color?! I was slathered in a viscous goo, suffocated for half an hour in a plastic bag. And for what?! To resemble a traffic cone?! That was something I hope to never relive. I would much rather be brushed out, or rinsed down the drain, stuck to a sweater then experience the horror of it again. I am a piece of hair, but sometimes I just want to curl up and die.
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