Egg Head

In 2012, after volunteering in a Cambodian orphanage, I arrived back to my home in Australia, looked in the mirror and gasped in fright when I saw my reflection. It was like a horror scene. Every part of me looked tragic but the worst of all was my hair. It needed immediate revival so I turned to my trusty friend Google for help. Google led me to an egg hair treatment. According to the reviews, this treatment would have me looking like a goddess. I quite fancied looking like a goddess so I raced to the fridge and pulled out a cartoon of eggs. After whisking 6 eggs into a gooey paste, I spread it through my long black hair and left it a while to soak in and do its thing.

Unfortunately, I’m someone who hates reading instructions. I never read them. I haven’t got time for that. So, like usual, I just skimmed past the instructions thinking ‘yep, yep, yep, easy, easy- whatever’. After twenty minutes or so, I jumped in the shower to wash it out.

That’s when things went wrong.

Horrendously wrong.

As I stood beneath the hot water, I began to see thick chunks of egg form in my hair. ‘What the actual fuck?!’

In extreme panic, I grabbed my phone and furiously scrolled through the article again. And that’s when I saw it- a warning: hair must be washed in cold water otherwise the egg will cook.

‘Cook? Cook! I have 6 mother-fucking eggs cooked in my hair!’ I tried to remain calm but I couldn’t. No matter how much shampoo I put in my hair, the egg wouldn’t budge. It was stuck. I was an omelette head. The only thing worse than the look was the smell. I was a walking fart.

For the next week I kept a pretty low profile. I continued to find clumps of rotten egg in my hair and despite going through half a bottle of perfume, I stunk worse that I could have ever imagined possible. When I looked in the mirror I did not see a goddess. Instead, I saw the image of failure starring back at me.


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