The Problem with Perky

I am not Perky.

I don’t think I’ve ever been perky. Or if I have it’s only in small doses. And then it wears off and I’m back to my grumpy self.

I don’t think I really trust perky people. I mean, is it really possibly to be that happy all the time?

Maybe it is.

However, I’m beginning to wonder if it’s really all about the hair.  Case in point, the doc I saw the other day had short and perky hair. And she was a very perky person. Said I was “just the sweetest thing,” while we were talking, in this perfect little Southern drawl. And seeing that I was there for my annual exam, being that perky was a very nice trick indeed.

Anyway, I went to the hairdresser today. You can see exhibit A there up top, courtesy of my self-held camera. (I had to tuck in that chunk behind my ear on my right, otherwise it hangs right over my face. Makes it hard to drive.) Admittedly, I just told her to “make it look nice.”

Which I guess meant taking Jennifer Love Hewitt’s hair and putting it on me.  (I’m not really wearing any make up here, btw, still proving that I’m not terribly photogenic. Camera *hates* me.)

I’m not sure I like it. But I’m not sure I don’t, either.

It’s a moot point really, because I don’t actually own any hair spray, which means it’s probably going to fall flat by tonight. But maybe it won’t.

And no, I wasn’t born in the stone age, but I was a child of the 80’s. In New Jersey. I had bangs you could sit on in high school. I carried an 18 inch canister of Vavoom in my purse.

Yes, I got help.

And I’m rambling. But that’s okay, because my friend Heather has enough perkiness for both of us, courtesy of her awesome DG meet and greet last night:

Oh, please – like you didn’t think I’d mention him at least *once* today?

Think he really liked the shirt, eh?

Alas, I will have to console myself to mere adoration from the front row tonight.

With my perky hair.

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