I’m convinced my hair dryer, the Flame Thrower, is trying to kill me. Oh, there’s nothing I can point my finger to and say, “Here are the transcripts from a conversation with the hot rollers which definitely points to annihilation by hair sabotage.” It’s subtle things like hurling sparks at my ear early in the morning when it thinks I’m not paying attention. But I’m too cheap to throw the thing out until it chokes on a hairball and sputters to a stop for good. So unless it bites off more once-blonde locks than it can chew, we’re together for another year.
Luckily, since this is a low wattage appliance and therefore has a limited capacity for complicated planning, it has been limited to spitting fire and summoning bursts of superheated air dedicated toward restyling my hair into the flash fried appearance of an overcooked Dorito. My left ear is scorched and it appears that I shrink wrapped my head in an old Brillo pad, but other than that I’m fine.
Lately the wretched thing has been sabotaging me with clandestine bouts of guerilla warfare. Its latest campaign involves the secretive, but effective technique of grabbing clumps of hair and consuming them in a teeth-gnashing frenzy like a buffet-bound supermodel on the first day of retirement. Whenever I bend over to dry the back of my hair, I end up with a festive “hairdo by shredder” look. And the hair dryer looks like a Chia pet in full bloom.
Given the embarrassment of losing daily battles with an appliance that can’t make ice, iron my clothes, or dispose of my garbage, I hoped my hairdresser wouldn’t notice. Perhaps I would sneak in for a trim.
Hairdresser: Well, Amy, what shall we do to. .OH MY GOD! HAVE YOU BEEN IN A FIRE!?
Me: Just even up the gaps, please.
Hairdresser: That’s like pulling up your knee highs to meet your push up bra. Did you lean too close to the birthday cake again?
Me: No, I just had a little trouble with the settings on my hair dryer. It thinks off means "off with her head." Say, could you make me look like Jennifer Anniston?
Hairdresser: OH MY GOD! HAS SHE BEEN IN A FIRE TOO?!
Me: Never mind. Just shave it and I’ll tell everybody I’m sympathizing with Britney during the bad years.
I slunk out of the hair salon looking like a cross between Michael Jordan and last year's geraniums. My resolution for the New Year? That blow dryer’s going down. Even if I have to get the hot rollers to help me.