Nobody Cares by Anne T. Donahue

Author:Anne T. Donahue
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ECW Press
Published: 2018-09-17T16:00:00+00:00

Mistake #5: Too much honesty

In 2006, I wanted to look “indie” and “hip,” so I dyed my brown hair blond and cut it into a shag-mullet. And, despite looking terrible and the worst, I was not judged. My friends promised that my chicken-fat-yellow hair looked great, that I would easily be mistaken for the lead singer in a cool band. I just had to get used to it.

In 1989, I wasn’t as accepting.

My friend and next-door neighbor had long, beautiful blond hair. She had natural curls in a way I never would, and I was understandably in awe. Which meant that when she cut it all off into a mullet, she’d shattered not just her mother’s dreams, but mine too. I was horrified. I was disgusted. I was appalled that she didn’t see her grave mistake in taking the kitchen scissors and mutilating something I couldn’t have.

I ignored her for days, turning down her invitations for playdates and telling her I didn’t want to play outside with anyone — only to play with the other neighbors minutes later. Finally, she offered a bribe. She stood at my front door with two freezies, one blue and one white — my favorite colors.

“Annie,” she said, handing one to me, “do you wanna come outside and play?”

I took the freezie and looked at her. I smiled softly, looking upon her and her bad hair in pity. “No thank you,” I said, closing the door.

I wandered into the kitchen, where my aunt and mom were sitting. They asked where I’d gotten the freezie.

“Julia gave it to me so I would play with her, but I said no.”

I have never found myself so quickly whisked outside and into the company of a person I didn’t want to be around. I barely felt my mother’s hands on my shoulders as she guided me out the front door, ordering me to play with my friend for a least an hour because I was being rude. What was rude, I remember thinking, was cutting one’s hair into such a terrible shape.

I patted my own mushroom cut and reveled in my excellent taste. Perfection was a curse, and clearly I was suffering from it.

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