On Being Blonde
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To be blonde is a state of being. There are some, a few, who have no choice. Like others into greatness, they are thrust into blondeness, and whether they want it or not, they walk among us blonde and glimmering.
The rest of us, though, we have to choose to be blonde. Nature gave me what is most kindly called “honey” hair. It’s not brown, it’s not blonde. It’s not dishwater. It’s a not-unpleasant color that defies being placed into any hirsute lexicon. It’s not unattractive, but it’s not blonde.
With enough sun and time, salt and chlorine, lassitude and exposure to harmful ultraviolet rays, I can become blonde as a volleyball competitor. I am like a Malibu Barbie; my skin turns a happy toasty marshmallow tan and my hair becomes as gloriously striated as a tulip, given enough sun.
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