Tonight I’m gettin’ the ole barnet (Cockney Rhyming slang for hair…Barnet Fair rhymes with Hair, remove the rhyming word, and you’re left with Barnet….it makes NO sense, but whatev) cut and styled by Mr. Jody. Remember when stylists used to go by their names with “Mister” put in front? Mister Anthony was my first hair stylist. He gave me a Dorothy Hammill, also known as a Wedge back in 1975, and I never ever went back to him again.
Could you blame me? My hair has never been shorter than my shoulders since then, except for a brief interlude involving me, an IV drip and an unfortunate amount of projectile vomiting.
Jody, you should know – I am really easy in the chair. Whatever you do to my hair is nothing compared to what I have done to it myself, hacking away at it with five dollar drugstore scissors, colorig it myself with Excellence by L’Oreal, when every other chickie I know spends a few hours with a professional colorist every three or four weeks. Whatever you do can only improve it. And if not, there is always the ole ponytail holder.
The funniest thing about all of this is surely going to be when I show up and say, “Hi, I’m one of the models.” I will not be able to say that with a straight face. Me and model in the same concept. It is just an oxymoron. I keep thinking of that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie is in a fashion show, and she comes out in these tiny blue, jeweled panties, and Samantha says, “Honey, you’re a model!” For me, it’s like, honey you’re short.
So, now that I am breaking into the modeling world, I am wondering – anyone out there need a Restalyne model? A Botox model? A pedicure model?