Sunday, August 30, 2015
And sometimes there can be highlights in your hair.
Today, I'm coming clean, sort of. Back in my high school and college days my hair was long. Heck, it still is today, but that's another issue. I used to bum rides to Higgins Beach to watch the surfer dudes and dream a bit. My friend Susie B. and bunch of the Gorham girls used to drive around town with a surfboard attached to the roof of her car. I can't recall it ever hitting the water, at least not in my presence. They say you could tell a local 'beach boy' from the blond locks or streaks of blond running through their flowing tresses. Well, I wondered what it might look like in mine. Whether this added 'attraction' might catch the eye of bikini surfer or anyone of the fairer sex. I thought about going to the Rexall Drug at the corner and buying a bottle of peroxide. That would do the trick. But I panicked a bit and worried about what would happened it my science experiment took a turn for the worse. So I settle for the easy way out. I found Mom's bottle Clorox Bleach under the sink and quite sparingly combed it in. I left it in for about a minute and washed it thoroughly out. I was in a panic. If it worked, what would I tell my friends? Or worse. Would my hair just fall out from the dose of bleach?
My brown locks remained.
What a dope!
Kind of stupid, don't you think?
How embarrassing to reveal, even now.
That draw to impress.
The things we do.
Some things are NOT highlights.