All I’m saying is that if I lived here I would have to get my hair cut, or shaved, or wear a wig, or a yarmulke, or a really big Minnie Pearl straw hat, or a skull cap, or bike helmet, or just put a god damn bag over my head. While I love you Martha’s Vineyard, you make me look like Courtney Love during her Hole days.
Mostly, I try to give in and put my vanity to bed. But jeez, take a look at the hair. RIGHT? I am frightening small blonde Island children, scaring the ticks off deer, making the ocean recede. We are talking horror movie bad. Move over bride of Frankenstein, there’s only room for one of our do’s on the Vineyard.
I have used all that “smooth the frizz” stuff, but guess what, it lasts for one minutes, before my hair turns into a stack of hay. The thing is that I love curls, but this is not that. I’m telling you that if I stood in Vineyard Haven long enough, people would mistake me for a cotton candy vendor. My head looks like a giant Brillo pad with expensive highlights.
Here’s the great thing, though. When I get home, I feel like a hair model. I am shocked by how shiny and pretty it is. And just like that, I’ve got something to be grateful for.
