Random Musings

Hair Slave

I have been a slave to my hair my entire life. It's as if the state of my hair dictates to my moods, my disposition, and sometimes my level of self-esteem. If my hair ain't right, neither am I.

As a little girl, I never learned to swim well because of the effect of water of my hair. I don't perspire very much on any other part of my body, except for my scalp. Not good. Because of that, I have had to make certain physical adjustments to accomodate that reality and its effect on my hair. Couldn't play hard, had to wear a swim cap for a romp under the lawn sprinkler- all kinds of crazy limitations.

My hair has always been thick, curly, and sensitive to moisture, which isn't a convenient thing for a busy, working mother who was meticulous about her daughter's appearance. I learned early in life that being tender-headed was not a luxury afforded to me. Thanks to my hair, I have developed a fairly high threshold for pain.

Fortunately, as an adult, I rarely have bad hair days, but when I do....

While in Texas last weekend for my son's graduation, I was forced to stand outside in the rain. It was a humid, morning-misty kind of rain- the kind that wreaks havoc on porous hair like mine. I had gotten up and styled it so that the short cut I wear was exceptionally cute. I wanted my son to be proud of his mother. We hadn't seen each other in six weeks.
He's familiar with my hair thing, and he's used to seeing me with every hair in place. My hair looked good; therefore, I felt good.

The cloudburst that threatened earlier never materialized. The skies had cleared and the sun had come out. My son and I spent the afternoon together, and then I dropped him back off at the Air Force base where he had just finished his basic training.

Back at my hotel, when I got my first look into the mirror, I was beyond appalled. I found that my hair had dried into something resembling an old bird's nest, and I had been walking around all day like that.
It's bad when you think you're walking around looking good, and you find out that you haven't been.

Despite that, I still had to go home on the plane the next morning. I couldn't wash it because I was due for a permanent, and unless you want your head to burn like you stuck it into the fires of Hell, you can't wash your hair for a few days before a getting perm. I was stuck hot curling my dirty, sticky hair and making the best of it.

That was last Saturday. Aside from being sticky and dirty, the hair smelled. Where could I go like that? How could I present myself to the public in that condition? Consequently, I haven't really been away from home since I pulled into the driveway from the airport. I couldn't. My hair was through and so was I until 5;30 this evening when I went for my appointment.

It's all better now. And so am I.