Brunette's have more fun

.In the '70s, most women on television had long hair. By most women, I mean Marcia, Jan and Cindy Brady. Oh, and Laurie Partridge, duh. Mrs. Brady (Florence Henderson), on the other hand, sported an iconic short mullet-shag, the trendy mom look of the period, while Alice the housekeeper was kept safely unattractive with a frumpy, outdated coif. Everyone loved Alice but no one wanted to fuck her. Well, the plumber, Sam, maybe, but we all secretly knew he was her beard.
Despite being a faithful devotee of The Brady Bunch, I secretly hated the Brady girls, privileged and prissy as they were. I preferred Mary Tyler Moore and Marlo Thomas (That Girl) who coincidentally wore their hair in the same flip style. They were also brunette, like me. Mary was smart, sensitive and had the best apartment in TV Land. But, Marlo Thomas had the best boyfriend. They were confident, independent, attractive and well-mannered. I wanted what they had. Mary was also a journalist, a career path I would later follow.
As a young girl, my hair belonged to my mother who favored a style not nearly as cute as its name: The Pixie. Monthly visits to the beauty shop were not the stuff of powder-puff dreams, and the mirror rarely had good news. Even as a small child I knew it was an assault on my femininity, I just didn’t know why. Tucked into my twin bed with my pet Schnauzer at my feet, I'd dream of hairbrushes and curling irons and those lethal ponytail holders with the knuckle-cracking colored marbles. Upon awakening, I'd rush to the bathroom only to see the punishing truth reflected back at me. The world had no mercy for little girls with wide knees and short hair, so when mom finally gave me the green light to grow it out, I did so with a vengeance.