Stilettos and Pain

I’d love to meet the guy who said fashion is easy. He must be on some kinna cheap kitchen smoke (Don’t ask me – dunno what that is -_-). Anyways, I’d love to meet him so I can smack him in the face with my 6-inch stiletto. All ten of them. At the same time.

Looking good – or at least, trying to – is a lot of hard work. Hard, sweaty work for women. I’d say for men as well, but I would be lying -_-.

Mr. Man wakes up in the morning and takes a bath (sometimes), not minding that the water touches his hair. He digs into his closet (cumbod) and whatever his hands find, he throws it on. Orange on purple. Red on Green. Indigo on Violet. Anything goes.

 He rubs ‘pomade’ on his hair, carries this weird looking backpack with funny patches everywhere. He’s done dressing up. Off he goes. You still see fine-as-heck babes crowding him -_- #pity

Not Miss. Lady. Never Miss. Lady.

Miss Lady doesn’t even wake up in the morning ’cause she didn’t sleep at night. She spends the entire night keeping her curls in them hair rollers. So, she wakes up at noon. To take a bath, she carefully covers the hair with a scarf, a shower cap and for good measure, adds an extra shower cap. They dinno born the water well to touch that hair. After everything? O_o

Miss. Lady has to shave all the time. Even George Bush’s daughter can’t afford to come out of the house with a bush for an armpit. It is a crime. Missy has about seven hairsprays, each one with a diff purpose. Each one critical. She digs through her entire closet about twelve times because she’s looking for that lilac top. She finds the lilac top and decides it’s the wrong shade. The dig continues.

By the time she’s got her cloths on, she’s sweatier than before she had a bath. She finally starts to put her make up on. Eyebrows need trimming. Foundation has got to be the right shade. Eyelashes nko? *sigh* Many girls are now used to looking at the world through their eyelashes…Long story made short - we’ll give make up another hour and a half. Dressed, made up…she’s looking for the perfect shoes. It’s red. It’s shiny. Its high. Heels. The necessary evil. She slides them on and she’s off. With every step, she sends a prayer to God.  “God please protect my ankle.” Sometimes she’s got to wear it for so long she starts looking for ‘moral support’. Babes in heels should never walk alone. It’s as risky as sky diving. When Miss. Lady wants to mix colours anyhow, she has to have an excuse. Currently, the excuse is ‘colour blocking’. *Phew* Even I am still trying to get a hang of that one.

After everything, you with your pomade hair will now vex because she’s ‘late’. Mschew.

Today, I went to retouch my hair. A girl’s gotta look pretty, no? Well, my hair and my scalp got burned. As I gritted my teeth in pain, I thought to myself that if I was in that kind of pain under different circumstances, I would cry. But if you’re in a salon of your own free will and you’re crying, what will you say is doing you?  *Smh*

Yours truly, Rantalot.