So, I got hair issues.
I suppose I’m lucky in that I have curly hair that’s easily straightened. And I’ve learned to never complain about my curls again — they disappeared during pregnancy and five years later, they’re just now beginning to return. It’s true you don’t know whatcha got ’til it’s gone. Sheesh.
The ‘do never stays the same for long. I get bored. It’s short, then it’s long. Then it’s really short. Sometimes I straighten it, sometimes I let it go, sometimes it’s half and half.
Wait. Half and half. Isn’t that hooker lingo? Didn’t I just learn about that on America Undercover or something? Pimps Up, Hos Down maybe?
It’s safe to say my hair’s schizophrenic. And at times, downright heinous.
Like in the morning.
Seriously, the similarities are eerie. Crikey, it probably IS a good thing I’m single.
In the car last week, I see MP in the rear view mirror, staring at the back of my head. She has a smile on her face.
Mommy, your hair looks nice today.
(My heart soars.)
Thank you Sweetie! That’s so nice of you to say.
I like it. You look like a CLOWN.
It was time for a cut and color anyway. I was really excited because I FINALLY found the perfect photo of the cut I wanted. I LOVE LOVE LOVE this hair. (Which, btw, clinches it — someday, I’ll look back on this post and be all, “Ugh, that was SO 2008,” while MP rolls on the floor in uncontrollable fits of laughter.)
Mkay, so she’s black and I’m not. But my hair could SO do that.
I thought so.
My stylist thought so.
My hair … did NOT.
And I am delusional. (I shoulda asked New Media Darling Whoorl.)
I have high hopes though. I still think it’s possible. Give me a few months.