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It’s Just Hair, It’ll Grow Back.

Last night after getting home, supper and homework, I started cleaning up a bit.  MD jumped in the shower after playing drums and I was in my room, under the blankets, frozen.  The past few days have been cold with rain.  That’s just the worst combination to me.  You’re already chilled, the wind is cutting through you and oh hey, let’s have it rain down and shake your bones.  Ugh.

I was listening to a Dave Brubeck Quartet album I found at Great Escape, Jazz Goes To College, dozing off and trying to stay warm. There is something entrancing about the sound of a record to me- the music combined with the grumbly white noise, that just makes me feel cozy and relaxed.  However, I was still chilled to the bone, so I decided to take a hot shower.  It still took me another ten minutes to convince myself to get out from under the covers though.

Back a few months ago when my brother dyed my hair red, he said I should use sulfate free shampoo, to keep the color set.  At least, I think that’s what he said. Sometimes I don’t listen and wind up fading my own color within a week. Thankfully, my brother still loves me.  Anyway, I have some of that shampoo left, so I figured I’d use it up.  After I got out of the shower and was toweling my hair dry, I realized that this shampoo had given me instant dread locks.  And not the cool looking, fit inside a bad ass tam either. What I was dealing with was more like an Aqua net prom hair fiasco.  Only wet. 

Growing up with this mane has been a constant battle.  One month it’s perfect, the next it’s wavy, then there’s a week where it’ll lay flat. My step mom says my hair isn’t as curly as it used to be because I’ve straightened it so much over the years.  That’s probably true, but for any of us with curly hair, the ability to have slick, bone straight locks feels … exotic.  At least to me it does.  Hell, I have certain outfits that even look better with straight hair.  As a young girl, I can remember sitting on the floor letting my Mom brush my hair out after taking a bath.  Granted, I wasn’t always well behaved, but in my defense, that shit HURT.  Thankfully all it took was a few taps on the skull with my hard plastic Strawberry Shortcake brush and I got back in line (love you Mom!).

So, last night, after my shower, I’m looking at my hair and having flashbacks.  I know it’s going to suck to brush my hair.  Only this time, I can’t tap myself in the head to sit still. Well, I could, but why would I purposely hit myself? Exactly.  I was able to mix in some conditioning creme and then walked to my bed to get to the task at hand. 

I hadn’t even brushed through two strands of hair when what happens next? I GET THE BRUSH HUNG IN MY HAIR.

You guys, that sucked.

It sucked worse than getting stuck in a cocktail dress in a fitting room.

It sucked worse than trying to shimmy into spanx.

It sucked worse than getting your period while wearing white pants.

YES.

My instincts told me to yank and pull with mighty strength! Then I talked myself out of it, for fear of going to work with a bald spot.  I gave a tug, brush still stuck.  I gently pulled, brush still stuck.  I feel the panic start to fester and I have to take a few deep breaths.  Sitting cross legged on my bed, I started laughing.  I was reminded of the time I spent the night over at my girlfriend Ana’s house. For whatever reason, Ana and her sister Patti thought it would be awesome to trim my hair.  This was also the year that I thought wearing giant, cloth head bands was awesome (it was not). I can’t remember exactly how it happened, maybe I moved, maybe someone’s hands were shaky, but regardless, I wound up with a half mullet and crying. Thankfully, the both of them talked me down from panic.  Also, I was already horribly awkward, so the hair cut sort of suited me. You know it was a moment, when we’re now all in our mid thirties and just talking about that night brings us to tears with laughter.

So my worse case scenario is that I have to cut my hair myself. 

Another option: wake my son up and have him help me. 

Best option: work through the pain.

I chose option C, but really I wanted to combine A&B. I’ve seen MD handle scissors, I’m sure he would’ve done just fine.

After twenty minutes of tugging and deep breaths, I was able to free the hair brush without losing a large chunk of my hair.  As soon as the brush was free, I yelled, “FINALLY. For fuck’s sake!” and then tossed the brush across the room.  I spent the next hour combing my fingers through my hair (what an exhausting task that was) and then adding more conditioning creme.

And this morning, when I hopped in the shower, I took that sulfate free shampoo and chucked it over the shower door and into the trash for three points.

 

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