Elves and Flat Irons

We went to see The Hobbit Saturday night. Dwarves, elves, orcs, trolls, wizards, and Oh, those elves. Those Elven lovelies, tall and fair of face and form, with their silky straight yet still flowy locks. In the movie, there is searing hatred of the elves by the dwarves. The dwarves say they hate the elves because they ran out on them during a crucial history-altering battle for middle earth, BUT I think the real reason is their long and silky locks. I mean, what's not to hate about hair that swings every which way you move your head while the dwarves look like they need a gallon of heat treatment VO-5 dumped on their heads and then saran-wrapped for a week.

The movie opens with a scene of a painfully handsome silver-haired Elven king, sitting atop a glorious steed, nodding his head 'no' to his army behind him, to no longer continue battle in aid to the dwarves. In excruciatingly beautiful slow motion, we see the exquisite perfect profile of the bare-back riding Elf leader, tossing his silk tresses in the direction away from the front line. Never has abandonment looked so gorgeous. That hair, that nose!

The elves, flawless with complexions like that of luminous pearls, sparklingly clear eyed, short nosed and breath taking--riding away from the stocky dwarves who are as short as they are wide that they looked like boxes. The dwarves with their springy brillo pad hair that sprouts from all over their heads and faces, and the noses--oh the hooked end noses that would need three rhinoplasties to cure. How the dwarves could drink out of a glass without drowning is a wonder to me.

Yes, the dwarves are jealous of the universe's unfair doling out of attractiveness components entirely to the elves. All those elves, with their top to bottom gloriousness, looking as if the sun itself had birthed them. The elves, with their  favorite hair do: the half pony. The loosely pulled held hair only from the ears up, while the rest of their tresses lazily cascade across their shoulders like a weeping willow in a Savannah wind.

It's this favorite Elven hair do, along with my flat iron, that has reduced my hair do choices by 50 percent. After waking up the next morning apres The Hobbit viewing, I readied myself for a day of good deep down house cleaning. I combed my thick, coarse hair, planning to take a shower later, and ran a flat iron through it to smooth out the nighttime kinks. Not wanting to look like J Lo with a hoisted fully pony for the third time that week, I reached for the mini brown coated rubber band rather than the heavy duty large gauge band. Giving myself a loose half pony, I pulled my straightened hair through, looked up in the mirror and what do I see?

Source

I had become an Elven king.

I can't do it--the half pony is no longer a possibility; there is no way that I can seriously walk around this planet and not feel like I should make myself a crown of icy frosted winter bared twigs and stick it on my head.

The flat iron, and The Hobbit, have done me in. I can't unsee The Hobbit, and if I can no longer wield a flat iron to my Colombian hair, not only will I be walking a mile in elf-hating dwarf treebark shoes, but I'll be waiting in line to douse myself with a Costco sized Breck Beautiful oil drum of conditioner, too. 

At least the rhinoplasty was paid for in '85.

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