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As I was blow drying my hair this morning, I realized that it has undergone many great difficulties through the years. It occurred to me that I should lavish it with expensive shampoos and conditioners. After all the abuse it has suffered, Lord knows it deserves some pampering.
The first hair disaster happened when I was four. I wound a comb into my bangs so tightly it had to be cut out. The first couple of times I wound it up I was able to easily unwind it. Great trick, wait till I show mom. It was the third winding that didn't go as planned and mom wasn't as impressed as I had hoped when I came crying to her with a comb hairball bobbing from my bangs.
When I was nine, my mother and I were visiting her friend. Her garbage disposal was clogged and she asked, since I had the smallest hands, if I would rummage around to see what might be stuck. I was able to extract a half ground stalk of celery and held it up. Then she asked me, without using my hands, to look over the drain with a flashlight and let her know if I could see anything else. I reached over and flipped the disposal switch on. The blades whirred and shot our a clump of greens that went splat on the top part of my forehead and made my bangs stand straight up. She and my mother laughed until they peed their pants. That wasn't the first time I made them laugh that hard.
When I was fourteen, I was at the mall with a friend. We always enjoyed going into the pet shop to see the puppies. As we passed a cage that housed two squirrel monkeys, one of them quickly reached between the bars and grabbed a handful of my hair. I stopped short. My friend and I gently tried to pry his fingers open but we were afraid of hurting him if we tried too hard. The monkey didn't seem too concerned with his effect on me. He refused to release my hair. The pet shop owner had to be paged as a crowd of people gathered to see the girl with a monkey in her hair. You will be relieved to know that no animals were harmed in the creation of this embarrassing moment.
My hair has been bleached, permed, dyed, cut, teased, lacquered, torn out at the roots by a childhood nemesis and burned. No wonder it suffers from post traumatic hair symptom. It's a wonder I have any hair left at all which is why I am turning over a new leaf. I vow never again to wind combs in it, walk too close to monkeys or hover over garbage disposals. I will pay the extra dollar or two for the right shampoo and conditioner and I promise to moisturize at least once a week.
Sorry, hair.
The first hair disaster happened when I was four. I wound a comb into my bangs so tightly it had to be cut out. The first couple of times I wound it up I was able to easily unwind it. Great trick, wait till I show mom. It was the third winding that didn't go as planned and mom wasn't as impressed as I had hoped when I came crying to her with a comb hairball bobbing from my bangs.
When I was nine, my mother and I were visiting her friend. Her garbage disposal was clogged and she asked, since I had the smallest hands, if I would rummage around to see what might be stuck. I was able to extract a half ground stalk of celery and held it up. Then she asked me, without using my hands, to look over the drain with a flashlight and let her know if I could see anything else. I reached over and flipped the disposal switch on. The blades whirred and shot our a clump of greens that went splat on the top part of my forehead and made my bangs stand straight up. She and my mother laughed until they peed their pants. That wasn't the first time I made them laugh that hard.
When I was fourteen, I was at the mall with a friend. We always enjoyed going into the pet shop to see the puppies. As we passed a cage that housed two squirrel monkeys, one of them quickly reached between the bars and grabbed a handful of my hair. I stopped short. My friend and I gently tried to pry his fingers open but we were afraid of hurting him if we tried too hard. The monkey didn't seem too concerned with his effect on me. He refused to release my hair. The pet shop owner had to be paged as a crowd of people gathered to see the girl with a monkey in her hair. You will be relieved to know that no animals were harmed in the creation of this embarrassing moment.
My hair has been bleached, permed, dyed, cut, teased, lacquered, torn out at the roots by a childhood nemesis and burned. No wonder it suffers from post traumatic hair symptom. It's a wonder I have any hair left at all which is why I am turning over a new leaf. I vow never again to wind combs in it, walk too close to monkeys or hover over garbage disposals. I will pay the extra dollar or two for the right shampoo and conditioner and I promise to moisturize at least once a week.
Sorry, hair.
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