My vanity is my brain, such as it is. Sometimes it glistens and sometimes it's a basin of cracked mud. It sleeps in lectures, it eats words on pages, draws me fabulous picture even as I sleep, reminds me of music past and present when I'm awake.
My face is now wizened - shewolf was right about that back in 2008. My hair has the silver swaths in places (ooooh, channelling Sontag, but I never did understand her, just liked the gravitas, figured I'd read her sometime when I felt like it and never have or only got to an article's first paragraph, and really liked her hair).
I like what I know of Jamie Lee Curtis. I think I like who she married.
I get hair play. I've always liked mine more or less as is, except back when I couldn't get it to go straight without an iron, or, egads, straightener, in the sixties. Boy, did that piss off my mother.
Have fun with it if you start to play, Tsar.