The
little baby hairs along my hairline are responding well to the humidity brewing
in consequence of the rains. Fairly responsive to climatic conditions, my hair
has a reputation that will put any obedient puppet to shame. Frizzy and dry,
the strands grapple to make themselves known, standing tall (albeit twisted) in
the event of any one strand making a solo appearance. As I attempt to tame them
down by running my fingers through, I glare at my reflection in the mirror,
notice my overgrown brows with stray hairs pleading for immediate attention and
I think to myself “who likes a perfectly manicured lawn anyway?”
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