Promised frivolity--it's all about my hair

My last several posts have been on the heavier side of subjects... wow, was that a bad pun or what? But tonight, after an hour of my beloved Lewis Black followed by Sinbad on Comedy Central (and before I go all out and embark in some Chris Rock), I figured I'd get in the mood for writing tomorrow morning with a little of the frivolity I promised earlier.

It's not terribly difficult to focus on the random silliness that floats about, essentially getting stuck in the humidity induced frizziness of my hair.  Seriously, does anyone else's head get the Gilda Radner "Roseanne Roseannadanna" thing going on in the summer?  I thought the humidity was bad when I lived in Michigan, but I tell you--MI has nothing on Philly humidity!  And because of this, I wear my hair in some sort of tied up or back fashion.  When I don't have to be at the office, I especially like the style that as a 5-year-old was technically referred to as "pigtails" (for my Brit friends, "bunches").  I also like to top off the look with one of my fabulous Bondi Bands.  Having taken a few days off around this weekend, I've been sporting the bunches; however, I was a little put off on Friday by the comment of some bitter bitch.

As I was minding my own business, admiring the new cover I had just acquired for my BlackBerry and heading out of the mall, I passed by a woman, easily in her early 60s with stone white hair and purple streaks (think along the lines of Cruella deVille)... honestly, I didn't think  much of the 'do--as in I didn't care enough to think about it at all--but she apparently had nothing else of her own going on enough to comment on my hair.  Loudly. To the tune that I was a little "too old to pull off the pigtail look anymore."  All I wanted to say was if you can sport some white and purple hair in your 60s, I can sport the 'tails in my 30s.  I didn't though.  Instead a strange sense of pride overcame me.

The pride comes from the 2009 Valentine's Day resolutions... where I decided I was going to work toward the esteemed goal of growing my hair to a length inappropriate for my age--just to piss people off.  And I think, in a strange, kinky kind of way (yes, more bad puns), I came very close to accomplishing something very close to that this weekend.  And it was quite a fabulous thing.