non conformist

I pulled my hair back today in a somewhat professional-looking pony. However, there is this one bit of hair that refuses to join the crowd. All day I've seen that brave batch in my rear view mirror and in front window reflections, boldly defiant in a stubborn stance all their own. Like a child raising his hand with the right answer who just might die (seriously) if you don't choose him, it stands vertical when everything else is horizontal.

I went about my day interacting with all sorts of people whose eyes have wandered up to look at the collection on my coif every point five seconds.

I'm trying to decide if this hair mishap is a metaphor for my life...


*e. del mar: Three parts.