The Price of Beauty

As I write this, I have a plastic shopping bag from Publix on my head. Why, you ask? To hold in the mayonnaise, silly!




I am in the middle of one of those kooky at-home beauty recipes that you read about in Cosmo or Glamour but never actually have the balls to do. Trust me; I am SO not the mayo-on-the-hair type. I have never put cucumbers on my eyes, spread yogurt on my face, or soaked my feet in olive oil. However, after spending $40 at the salon two weeks ago on an unsuccessful deep conditioning treatment, I decided to take the goop into my own hands.

What prompted this radical use of condiments? If you saw my hair, you'd know. I currently look like a cross between the Cowardly Lion and Rosanne Rosanneadanna. Yesterday morning, my daughter entered our bedroom, looked at my disheveled mane and yelled, "Whoa! That is some fluffy hair!" Yeah, Em. That is some fluffy hair.

It turns out that the "subtle highlights" I had done a few weeks ago completely fried my already parboiled queen-size coiffure. Sure, the highlights turned out pretty, but it exacted some serious collateral damage. To describe my hair as frizzy is like saying the ocean is wet. It is every color, shade, texture, and flavor of frizzy that one can imagine. In a word, it is scaryfrizzy. Since I don't want to be known as the crazy chick with the frightening hair, I thought it time to give my 'do some much-needed TLC.

While my head was immersed in the oh-so-comfy salon washtub a few weeks ago, my dearest hairdresser, Julieta, quietly whispered to me the secret home remedy: put gobs of mayo on my hair, wrap plastic around my head, and wait. After a sufficient period of heat-up time, wash the sandwich spread out and watch my luscious locks return.

Hence, the mayo on my mop. I feel like a flaming dork.

One part of me knows I look like a freakin' goofball, and another part of me thinks I am being a narcissistic ass. Most likely, I am a combination of the two. I can't help it! I admit it; I want to have pretty hair. I don't have to have perfect hair like Angelina's, Kate's, or Jennifer's; I just don't want Roseanne Roseannadanna's. It's not too much to ask.

So, this morning I will be Little Miss Professional, sending important email interviews to national magazines, updating my website with articles and reviews, planning speaking engagements, and otherwise living with some Serious Mojo.

And I'll do all of this with a plastic Publix bag on my head.

Scary.

************************************************************************************

For your consideration and/or comments:

What silly thing have you done before, all in the name of beauty?

************************************************************************************

Visit www.TheresaRose.net to receive your Daily Dose of Mojo!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------