6 Steps to Super Sleek Stylish Hair

1. Out With the Old

Aged. Musty. Moldy. Darker than the night sky.

Your old hair!

Bodice ripper, right?

I mean, really though, maybe it is time to make a change, especially if you're my mother.

She has an extensive library of tresses on the shelf above her sink.

If there is a hair extension in every color and texture, matte, metallic, or colored with glitter, she has it.

It's her hair's version of the David-and-Goliath dust up.

At any time she can 'pwn' the competition in an instant.

We have no idea what 'pwn' is, but it's her favorite, ever-changing word.

She has thousands of extensions in her personal collection, in every possible color and texture imaginable.

The she made a choice to chop it all off.

So it can grow purple and bronze. It will look striped in white. Maybe even pitch black.

The possibilities are endless.

And it shows.

You can't call it a wig.

A wig is not very composed or like, stylish.

Every hair on that head is unique, perfectly shaped. And it's all perfectly attached.

She has painted her face too. Those are all also extensions.

Her make-up is a tribute to Britain's queen, Mother Theresa, and a 1960's rock-n-roll fashion designer.

She claims they are both ninjas, but we doubt it.

She never does anything ... right.

Anyway, she just sits there ... all day.

She doesn't even get out of the house.

We have to tell her everything ... and it's time to take action.

2. "It's for Halloween."

Little or no mention of 'Halloween'. Notice that I used 'notice'.

"Can you pick up a set of extra-thick extensions for my Mom?"

""Sure", you say. So, which color? " Orange, maybe? Maybe ... blue?"

"Add a white overlay."

"I'll grab some, too."

"I'm not sure they will work ... on her hair. Legally, I mean ... but ..."

"Will it work? Can you buy it?"

"Yeah, I can get it, but I don't know ... would you do this, uh ... for our mom?"

"For our mom?! Of course!"

"She is our mom too, after all."

"This is going to be amazing."

"It's scary."

3. Monday Morning

You can feel the excitement all around you, so you take five minutes to run your hands through your broom sex hair, comb through your Adam's apple, and pull your 'pajama' boots on.

Mom's going to love it, right?

Once you tuck in the ends and flip through the pages of today's mail you are ready to make your move.

You walk down the hall and into the kitchen which is where our conversation will start.

"Morning Mom."

"Hey, can we talk?"

"What should we do, with the hair ... it's a f-a-k-e."

The hair is ... fake. (Please note that I used 'fake' ... twice.)

Mom's hooves-like nails click on the wooden table in her dining room as she squints in the light.

"Halloween is tomorrow."

Yeah, yeah. I know.

"You say that every year."

"It's your favorite holiday."

It is my favorite holiday.

She's a massive fan of dressing up. The only thing she loves more than dressing up is wearing purple.

"That's also what I tell you every year."

"I always tell you that this is the year I won't dress up. Because this is now the year that I won't dress up."

"Oh, I always forget that. Tell me again. This is a trick question."

"I'm not dressing up this year."

"That's it."

"That's the end of it. I mean, there's no point."

"What about your party?"

"I can't go."

"Your friends want you to be there, Mom."

"They can't be all snobby modern hippy people, with their Halloween thing, and their ridiculous costumes and that disgusting candy that tastes like gross Werther's Originals.

Conclusion: I won't be there."

"I'll talk to them. I'll be there."

"You won't win this one, you know."

"I know."

"I'll tell you now because I know you'll talk to them later."

"Okay."

"I'm not dressing up because I can't."

"Mom, what are you saying?"

"I burned my Halloween costume.