I told them how I always used to say to her, "Oh I wish I had your curly hair."
To which my friend would reply, "Oh, I wish I had your straight hair - let's trade!"
I demonstrated how we'd pretend to peel our hair off like a wig and exchange them but my boys reacted as if it was the dumbest thing they ever heard.
"It's like that skit when Elmo tried to swap his fur for Whoopi Goldberg's skin," I reiterated but they didn't remember. So, instead of understanding the terminology, they were left with this imagery of two girls trying to scalp each other.
When I finally realized that my hair would never be curly, I then saw the greener grass as being blond. As a capricious teenager with no money and a dream, I dumped a whole bottle of hydrogen peroxide into a basin and soaked my hair in it. The result was split ends - and I'm not talking about the band.
My mother shoved two twenties in my hand and told me I was not allowed back into the house until I chopped it off. She kicked me out of the house as if I were a Jehovah's Witness that got in through the window - she meant business. That day, the hairdresser hacked off eight inches of fried hair and since then I never grew my hair past my shoulders...until now.
Long hair is not a choice - it's what happens when a woman lacks the time and the money to keep it in check. It gets into my mouth when I'm trying to take a sip of beer at a beer garden. I have to tie it up when I cook or do anything because it falls in front of my face blinding me - it sucks.
And the absolute worst chore is washing it. Since the colder weather, I blow dry it now - the lazy way. Bent over upside down. The result of this lackluster styling is, I wind up looking like Gene Simmons. Yes, that Gene Simmons from Kiss...but how he looks now.
If I could pick anything off Gene Simmons to resemble, it wouldn't be his hair. Guess the grass is always greener on the other side. At least grass gets mowed.
|Could be worse...|