Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!

I've never really been a "girly" girl. You know; the girl who applies make-up expertly from the first day of high school; who can't wait to buy her first pair of high heels; who spends long, giggly afternoons with her sisters/friends in the "boudoir" acting out the romantic scenes from Top Gun and swooning over Tom Cruise. (Well, alright, I did have a bit of a thing for Keanu Reeves in Point Break).

I am a strictly no- to low-maintenance girl (don't shave in winter, make-up inexpertly applied and worn sporadically, never owned a blow dryer).

So how the hell did I end up with this hair??

This hair that reaches nearly to my bra strap. This hair that gets caught between my back and the bus seat, so that I can't tilt my head forward. This hair that is a tangled mess in the morning if I've had a restless night. This hair that is too long to tie back in the old "looped-through ponytail".

This hair that makes me look like Marcia Brady.

I have to agree with my boyfriend, however, that it is a marked improvement on the short, red, lesbian crop which features on my old drivers licence (horror!), and the short, blonde, lesbian crop which features on my passport. Not to mention the gelled-up double-fringe which was the bane of my early highschool years. I can't look at any pictures of myself circa 1989 without hyperventilating with shame.

Lately I have been wondering how much my lustrous/lank locks (depending on how close/far away wash day is) would earn me should I decide to sell them to some upper-crust wig-makers. For a few hundred squids, I would be thinking hard about returning to that lesbian crop.