Hair

     Hair.  Its something most of us have, and, speaking as a woman with a lot of it, I know it can be difficult to manage.  Don’t get me wrong though, I’m not one of those women with perfect hair that complains about it.  Those women need to be drug out into the street and shaved.  We’ve all come across that woman, the one pouting non-commitally into the ladies’ room mirror, who tosses the golden cloud of glossy perfection that’s attached to her head over her shoulder while saying something dumb like, “I wish my hair would curl, I can’t do a thing with it.”  In that instance I give a response like “Mmm, yes, well.”  And I let her go on thinking that curls are wonderful and unattainable, when in my head I’m going over the privileges that she doesn’t seem to be aware that she, with her “straight” hair has.  Things like tendrils.  If pieces of hair fall out of my ponytail, they don’t sweep gracefully across my cheeks in a light breeze, giving me the opportunity to brush them cutely away again.  No, for me “tendrils” stand out from my head at odd angles, giving me an unfortunate Alfalfa-meets-Pippi-Longstocking sort of appearance.  My mom has always affectionately referred to tendrils with a mind of their own as “Whippy-dings”.   

    Speaking of wind in the hair, those straight-haired women who want you to feel sorry for them get to rock it.  Straight-haired women get to drive with the windows down, or ride in a speed boat, or get caught in a gale, and within moments afterward (and with minimal toussling with the fingers) the hair is right back in place.  If a curly-haired woman finds herself in any of these scenarios she ends up looking like she put her finger in an electrical outlet, and no amout of tousseling will revive her hair to its original state.  Yes, straight-haired women are able to enjoy the great outdoors and not have to worry about what their hair is doing because its always just blowing perfectly in the breeze like Pochahontas’ hair in the Disney version (a movie noted not only for its creative and epic soundtrack, but also for its remarkable historical innacuracy).  

    While I do hope women of other hairtypes appreciate theirs, I hope it doesn’t seem like I’m complaining about mine.  Ever since the day I read an article written by a woman with hair like mine who described it as “mermaid-y” I have been happy with my hair type.  It has been a long and difficult road though, learning to work with my hair.  I went through a phase with long hair, and a phase with really really short hair.  I went through a phase (along with my cousin Sam) where I kept a bobby pin in my hair at all times, just in case I got kidnapped and needed to pick a lock to escape.  My first memory of my hair is of my mother crying over it because my brother took a pair of scissors to it in what I assume was a rather unprofessional manner (I was too young to be upset). 

    My second memory of my hair was of an event that I refer to rather shamefully as The Great Mashed Potato Fiasco.  When I was very young (these were the days before I discovered that mashed potatos are incredibly tasty when they’re hot and slathered in lots of melty butter) I had delayed eating my mashed potatos until they were cold and I was the last one sitting at the table.  In a flash of brilliance and desperation I lifted a section of my hair from the top of my head and stashed my uneaten potatos underneath in an effort to conceal them.  I don’t remember my family’s reaction at the time, but to this day hardly a familial gathering goes by without some mention of the incident. 

    As the years went on I learned what my hair did and did not prefer.  For example: No brushing except right before a shower.  Otherwise I could start skipping and singing Follow the Yellow Brick Road and anyone watching could rule out Dorothy, the Scarecrow, and the Tinman as people I was doing an impression of.  My hair does do some pretty cool things though.  It stays in a french braid without the need of hairspray.  It stays curly if I let it be curly…again, without the use of hairspray.  I don’t need to wash it very often, it just stays fresh and fluffy for days on end.  As long as I stay away from a stiff wind, with a little imagination it can look quite mermaid-y.  And there’s enough of it so that I know, should I ever again need to conceal any sort of edible substance, I do have that option.