My friend, fellow Elevensie and down-the-road neighbor (we live in the same small town AND had debut novels in the same year–what the heck are the chances of that?!?), Carrie Harris‘s new book is out:
And in honor of that day, my Lady of the Pink Unicorn Zombie Dress would like me to tell you all about her bad hair day contest:
Post a bad hair picture anywhere on the internet WITH A LINK TO THIS POST [Mer: Carrie's post! Not mine.]. Your picture must have a link to qualify. If you win the drawing, and it turns out that your picture doesn’t have a link, I’ll have to draw another winner, and I’ll make a sad face, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?!?! Your pic can be old or new. If you don’t have one, go crazy with the scrunchies and TAKE ONE. You can enter as many times as you want (once per day), but each entry needs to be unique. So change up the picture or the text or SOMETHING. Post on your blog, put it on twitter, make a bad hair tumblr–whatever! Find some way to change it up. And don’t forget to register each entry in the Rafflecopter [on her page].
Soooo… in the spirit of good sportsmanship, and that I would never plug a contest I wouldn’t enter… Here’s me, circa 1986, doing my best imitation of a poodle with a mullet.
Ah, eleven. That was my magically awkward age. I was in an all out hair war, begun when I was ten and started developing intractable cowlicks that we eventually realized were curls. The mullet didn’t help, but what came after was no better, either. I unrocked the short curls for all three years of junior high that came post-mullet.
Not to out my BFFs from the time (l to r: Pam, Esther, Chaitra, me), who had hair struggles of their own–but I think it’s clear that I had the WORST hair of that group. The worst fashion sense, too. I mean–goofy, puffy-painted oversized tee and pink pedal-pushers! I don’t think that was even on-trend for the time, honestly.
So. Yeah. Don’t leave me hanging, after those reveals!
