I’m involved in a love/hate relationship of sorts. It really shouldn’t be this way, since we’ve spent a lot of time together over the years. Part of the appeal of blogging is that it’s free therapy, and I need to get this off my chest.
It’s my hair.
No, there isn’t any on my chest. Not that I’ve noticed anyway, but maybe I should look.
But I have A LOT of hair on my head. Summertime is when I realize HOW MUCH I really have. It’s like a warm, fuzzy blanket that I wear around my neck and halfway down my back. I hate how it looks when I put it up, so I don’t do that often. Until the temps hit 100 degrees or higher (today was our first 100+ day, hence the blog post). I guess the hair looks fine up; it just draws more attention to my face. Ugh.
Cut it short you say? Not a chance. The last time my hair was short was during a dark period of the 1970’s, when my mom took me to get a cute shag. I would post a picture of it, but the only thing worse than the shag was the clothing I wore in the 70’s. Nobody needs to see that.
See, my mom was a very smart woman. She told me I needed to take good care of my
dreadlocks hair, since I was old enough to brush and wash it on my own. I’m sure I listened on some kid level, and that was the extent of it. Until I got the knot. THE KNOT at the nape of my neck that birds attempted to lay eggs in. It was rumored that lost socks were in there somewhere. Women with knitting needles started eyeing it, picturing the fuzzy scarf they could knit with it. THE KNOT that no comb could conquer. Tears, cream rinse, No More Tangles spray….nothing would work. So, we went to get the cute shag.
That was the last time I had short hair. Well, that short anyway.
Over the years after that, I had a plethora of hairstyles. Farrah Fawcett feathers in high school, bangs (grown out and cut again many times over), side parts, center parts, and spiral perms. My dark brown hair would get a golden tint each summer from time spent in the sun and in the pool. Not thinking that was enough, I had an unfortunate incident with Super Sun-In right before college, which turned my hair a rancid shade of orange. I looked like a popsicle.
The orange hair took several years to grow out, during which time my hair did get shorter….just to get rid of the orange. The last bit of faded orange was trimmed away weeks before my wedding (whew!).
Now my head is being invaded by the nasty grays. Tons of them. They have already been invading for years; now they have called for reinforcements. After several calculations using algebra in front of the bathroom mirror the other day, I am convinced that the brown hairs may be the new minority.
So I color the grays a shade not far off from the summer color I used to get naturally, for free. Only it’s not so free now, and I have to go every 6 – 8 weeks to keep from looking like I should be riding a broom instead of driving a Honda. I will keep doing it until the grays no longer accept any color they don’t like. I’m hoping this isn’t until I am well into my 80’s.
So between the hot neck and the salon bills, I’m feeling a bit at the mercy of my hair and our tenuous relationship these days. Not complaining, just taking advantage of the free therapy.
Makes orange not look so bad. Maybe something in a cute shag.
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