Thursday, February 6, 2014

A Hairy Tale

I am not a big fan of primping and pampering. The faster I can get through the ritual it takes to get ready for a day, the better. I would prefer a wash and wear hair style over anything else in the world ... which is making this growing-out-my-hair-phase a rather painful ordeal.

Six months ago, I got the shortest-hair-cut-known-to-my-locks. It was frightening. I got accustomed to blurring out my reflection in a mirror but any time my face/hair combo made it to a photograph I quite literally cringed. Take an aging, lifeless looking face (that rarely smiles) and place it smack dab in the middle of an ultra-short haircut and you have "moi".

Two months ago, my bangs finally reached my eyebrows again and I was feeling overgrown and shaggy. So I made my way to a hair salon (shaking all the way), not knowing what I dared to ask for. I did not want my hair 'cut'. I simply wanted it tidied up so that it appeared that I looked this way on purpose.

My newest favorite hair guy gave me color and sparkle and tidied up my hair so that I could leave the house without a bag over my head throughout December and a little way into January.

Lately, I have been coveting stay-at-home-experiences because my hair has reached a terrible phase of roots and I could not walk past a mirror without the words "mushroom cap" coming to mind as I caught my reflection taunting me.

This would not phase me so much if it were not for two things. "Dancing" and a "Weekend Getaway". I must leave our home and go out into the public (buying groceries and working does not count) on a semi-regular basis over the course of the next few weeks. If it were not for that, I would not have done what I did. But I did it. I called and made an appointment to tend to my new mushroom-cap-with-roots look.

My appointment was at 6:00. I walked in right on time and sat down awaiting my transformation. I have never 'touched up my roots' before. I couldn't believe how quickly the process went. In no time flat, he was done touching up. Then I sat.

And I sat. And I sat.

Then I sat some more.

I thought I would never stop sitting.

I thought that my hair was going to fall out at the roots because I sat so long with this goop on my head.

I wanted to go home!

I wanted out of this prison called a hair salon!

I wanted my mommy!!! Okay, I didn't really go there ... but I really was getting close to wanting to cry scream.

Finally, finally, finally my hair-guy (I have temporarily removed 'favorite' from his title) rounded the bend and came back to me. I honestly thought that maybe he went home and had completely forgotten me. I thought I may have to wash the floors and do laundry after they closed up shop. At a bare minimum, I was thinking that I deserved a free hair cut.

He quickly clipped and trimmed, dried and styled, primped and processed my hair. By the time I got out of his chair, I could have been whipped around in a tornado and my absolutely straight-to-my-face, lifeless head of hair would not budge.

I couldn't wait to get out of there. It was 8:00!! Two hours of my life. Wasted! At least one hour (if not, an hour and a half) of that time was sitting still. Waiting ...

I got out to the car and messed up my hair as much as I possibly could. I had to work that goop out of my hair! I did not have the time or energy to wash my hair when I got home! I mussed and fussed and scrunched and pushed my hair every which way. It stood straight out from my head. It felt horrible.

I got home and messed it up some more. Then pushed it back down. I was NOT wasting any more time on my head! I was NOT going to wash it!! I detest hair-care! The entirety of my wakeful after-daycare-hours were wasted. On primping. BLECH!

Then I made myself some supper. Doors were slammed. Something (I can't remember what it was) was tossed. Absolutely everything in the world made me angry.

Finally, finally, finally ... at about 8:30 at night, I sat down and enjoyed the moment that I live for all day. Sitting in my quiet little room-with-a-door, with my supper in front of me, an episode of the Gilmore Girls on ... and NO mirrors!

My Son walked in with a cat in his arms and we 'talked cats'. And I was home again. All was right in the world. I was in a quiet (padded?!??) room, with my food and our cats.

We laughed, we enjoyed moments, we savored our Senior Cat's new lease on life (it is amazing what half of a tiny little pill can do for a person, right Mom??) and I finally, finally, finally put the emotions from my bad hair experience behind me.

Then I woke up this morning.

Darn mirrors! I hate them. My hair is still bone straight (a look flattering to someone who is at least a decade younger than me), but at least the feeling of the 'goop' is gone.

I spritzed my hair and scrunched it up. I wet my hands and raked it through my hair. Please, please, please I just want a dab of 'life' added to this lifeless look. I do not want to have to wash it! Did I mention that I despise washing (and the inevitable styling that follows) my hair?!

I think the hair cut, itself will be fine. Is it a wash and wear style? I highly doubt it. But you can be sure that I am going to do my best. Otherwise ... I may just have to return to the girl who cut my hair back in August and start this process all over again. That is ... if my hair does not fall out after all of the hair processing, hot, hot, hot flat ironing and goop that was endured last night.

Happy Hair Day to you!!

P.S. Yes I know, if this is my biggest problem I am the luckiest girl around. I am grateful that is exactly the truth. I am grateful. Bad hair and all.

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