a Friday night with Kerry

So, it's Friday night.  Although I've never been the party girl, I never thought a Friday night would become quite this anticlimactic. 

I've just dyed my hair orange. 

Orange was not the color I was going for, in fact, Light Auburn is the shade on the box.  But it might as well be called Orange.  Don't believe me?  Let's go to the evidence.

Oh, yeah, I dyed my eyebrows too, because I want to look like the Carrot Top version of Groucho Marx. 

This is all kinds of sexy, wouldn't you agree?  Not so much, I know.  The houseboys aren't exactly lining up outside the door. 

As the color began to to darken on top of my head and I checked the mirror, a song popped into my head. 

Can you guess which one?

"They call me Heat Miser…"

It's the one and only Heat Miser from 1974's "The Year Without a Santa Claus."  

The Heat Miser and I have one thing in common.  Okay two.  1) flame-colored hair and 2) similar body shapes. 

Besides that we're total opposites.  He likes it hot; I like cool temperatures.  He hates Santa; I love Christmas.  He can melt objects with his bare hands; I melt in the heat and humidity.  He sings Ragtime; I sing everything on my iPod, no Ragtime.  He has a much-hated step-brother, the Snow Miser; I have a sister in Texas, where it has snowed before .  His mom is Mother Nature herself; my mother has enjoyed the Animal Planet.   He clearly has no fashion sense; I'm me.  He has minions which are miniature versions of himself;  I'm not allowed to speak about that until after the trial is over. 

Just before I rinsed my hair, I checked the mirror again and another image came to me.  

Syndrome from The Incredibles. 

Either I need to go back to the salon for professional coloring or I need to stop watching animated television and movies. 

This is just sad.

I just had the strangest epiphany.

If the Heat Miser and I had a child it would be Syndrome. 

Look at him.  Seriously.