Working at a restaurant may cause purple hair
So much for growing my poor fingernails back out, I’m cooking again. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. Long, elegant fingernails are prone to get muck wedged underneath them when you’re cooking, anyway, and that’s not only unsanitary, but no longer particularly elegant. Quite the opposite, in fact. I won’t go into the details.
All I know right now is that I want a chef coat and chef pants. Riding the bus home from work wearing sweaty, food-stained jeans and t-shirt makes me look like a dumpster-diving, homeless mental patient. If I must look like a mental patient (and I frequently do), I’d rather look like an amusingly eccentric nutjob, instead of the icky kind that has loud conversations with an invisible giant devil bunny while they urinate on the azaleas in front of the county courthouse.
That’s it. I’ve had it. I’m going to start tinting my grey hair purple, instead of matching it to my alleged natural hair color. Crazy homeless people generally don’t have the money or facilities to dye their hair weird colors. If people are going to look at me askance in public, I would prefer that they have a good reason.
Besides, purple is my favorite color, and I’m forty. I can have purple streaks in my hair if I damn well please. So there.