The Cure to what ails me
Over the weekend I was fortunate to attend a friend’s wedding ceremony which was such a blast. I danced like a fool for most of the night and most memorably, flopped around to a Cure song.
It’s been so long since those days of being in love with runny-lipstick-faced Robert Smith and his black frizzy-fern headed self. Posters on the wall and recording “Love Cats” when it played on Much Music- those were the days.
I remember in high school almost lipsyincing in a school concert to a Cure song. My friends and I chickened out at the last minute and I was left with a black dyed mop top.
Maybe for Halloween I’ll smear some lippy and eyeshadow on my face and pick up a cheap, plastic wig to tease up into a big poof. Sounds like fun. Anyone going to join me or will I chicken out again at the last minute?
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You must do this! Or, if the extreme halloween version doesn’t work out, perhaps incorporate elements of Rob’s stylin into your everyday regime. For instance, go one shade more red on the lips, and begin teasing the hair ever so slightly, like when people have hair implants, bit by bit no one will notice the gradual transition into total fern-head freakshow! Or maybe one night of drunken Robert Smith impersonation will be the cathartic release you need to move on.