I am bad hair woman, hear me roar!
I'm having a Bad Hair Day. I'm not a vain person, by any means. However, Bad Hair is about more than just walking around looking like a blind person constructed a wig for you. No, Bad Hair encompasses the entire body, soul and mind of your being. It weighs you down, it makes you grumpy, it takes that last shred of human decency you had and shoves it over the cliff of dignity so you are left with an attitude that would maim the most hardened terrorists with just a glare from your frosty, evil eyes.
Bad Hair is not a bad coif. It's not a brush or comb away from sanity. It's miles and miles away from any sane place in the world. Bad Hair combines every aspect of your body, mind and soul, taking you on a strange journey from your mutterance of death wishes upon every person in the world to the sharpening of your fingernails so you can better gouge out the eyes of your co-workers.
So let's go, Meryl and Andrea. I'm waiting. As soon as someone nominates an entity, human or otherwise, who is deserving of our wrath, I am there.
I am Bad Hair Girl. Superhero to the sufferers of split ends, savior to the follicly challenged, avenger of the too-much-conditioner victims.
Here I come to save the Bad Hair Day. With blowdryer and hot oil treatment packed in my bag to take care of that hair, and my trusty spork-of-death and fists-of-rage ready to take care of your emotional outlet needs.
I think I need a mental health day.