Every morning when I get up, there is this awful mat of brown, sort-of yellowish red, fuzzy mat in my face. Some might call theirs hair; I call mine “The Beast”—akin to the Wooly Mammoth or a lion in bad-need of a hair-care specialist. People that have cut my hair and then attempted to blow dry it, were last seen running down the sidewalk with tears in their eyes, declaring—in some cases—that they had planned to become a nun when they made the mistake of coifing others “do’s.” Mine is a double-do with evil tendencies caring little for the rules of nature and often, doing what it pleases, even when a rubber band has attempted to tame it.
After the first second cup of coffee, I wander into the bathroom with some intention—much less since common sense has set in—to tame the beast, just long enough, to get a rubber band around it. It’s difficult to comb/brush your hair with the night’s luggage still hanging out over your eyes, but I manage to get a grip on the stuff, yanking, tugging, and eventually releasing the rats from their tormented prison, only to contain them in a new rubber-sealed restraining device. The rubber band begins, almost immediately, to make a retreat down the back-side of my head. By noon, the pony tail that had started out, high atop my head is now crawling under my t-shirt collar.
When the curls—wire wisp that hang loosely regardless of any attempt to do otherwise—have twisted into the ear pieces of my glasses, so tightly, that I can no longer remove them, the second go-round beings. As I rip the glasses from my hair—I’m not bald, it’s just resultant glasses/hair removal—I reach for the brush, grasping it and my hair firmly. In an attempt to lengthen the amount of time it will take for the collar-crawl to begin, I twist the band tighter and higher on top of my head and replace the glasses. One glance in the mirror, assures me that it’s begun and there will be a third bout with the beast, but I walk away, anyway, with the contentment of having won this round, still fresh in my mind.
I have tried, on occasion, to allow the beast to have its way, however, it became clear to me and most of the neighbor’s that my screaming was far-worse than dealing with the unruly mat of curls on my head. Bozo come get your wig!!
My youngest daughter has very long thick wavy hair until she rolls or straightens it. Some days she adds styling gel and wears it the way nature intended. Those of us with fine hair would love to have thick hair. I have to add product to make my hair look thicker. Carolyn
ReplyDeleteVolumizer...not a problem here, but taming the beast takes a load of hair spray, especially when it's raining or humid outside.
ReplyDelete