So, a few days ago I went to Michael the Extremely Gay Hairdresser for a new 'do. I was getting bored with the style I had and knew Michael could fix it. In fact, that was my demand, "FIX IT!" In his usual fabulous style he cut my hair and then asked "Are you ready for something damn cute?" Why, but of course! He flipped the ends of my hair up with his amazing flat iron that does things no flat iron should. The effect was not unlike Reba:
Which, really, is great because, face it she's in her 50's and she's hot. The problem as I stated it was, "There is no way I can reproduce this." Michael assured me I could "It's like when you used to feather your hair, but more extreme." Well, sure, but 1979 was a hell of a long time ago.
And frankly, my hair never turned out that well anyway. But my never say die personality kicked in and I have attempted, on several occasions, to style my hair in Michael's spectacular fashion. Unfortunately, the girl gene for style was left out of my DNA and my attempts look more like Nigel Tufnel than Reba.