87 Words of Complaint

Dear Universe,

Why could you not have just given me perfectly straight hair, that come rain, shine, sleet, snow, humidity or gale force winds, sat perfectly on my head like the perfect hair of Lego men?  I am tired of looking like I’m wearing a bird’s nest made of candy floss.

I would like to look like this, at all times, without any effort:


But instead, I look like this:


Which I suppose is unavoidable, since half my chromosomes came from this:


Yours, in fluffy follicles,

Ceci. xx


2 thoughts on “87 Words of Complaint

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