Hair

It was inevitable....eventually I would write a little thing about my hair. Unfortunately, my hair has kind of dictated my life, my self image, my identity, how people judge me, the only attention I get, what I will not do on rainy days, my swimming activities or lack of them, the necessity to check out seat to roof height on rental cars....before renting it, what kind of headboard I will have, where I sit in concerts, what day of the week I will totally give up to wash my hair, make runs to the states for hair product I can't get here, cross the street so I don't have to walk under low lying branches, my ability to go from a wonderful awesome compliment to totally humiliating ridicule, etc.....

We rented a car in Paris a couple of months ago. It was the assyest most awful car we have ever driven. Being a tallish looking Peugeot, we felt that both of us would fit comfortably. Now, I could write a really long awful diatribe about that miserable machine we rented, but I won't. There were so many things that were stupid and ridiculous about it and I don't wish to revisit the misery. So, that being said, I am going to mention one part. That would be the part about where I sat. My first hint that there may be trouble was....I couldn't get in. Neither could Bill. We tried front first, ass first, knees and hunched body first, shoulder head body in that order....nothing worked. So then we looked for the seat adjuster handles. Whoever was in it last must have been borderline midgets. When we finally located the handle, we adjusted the seat back as far as possible. Even then we had to lay the back part flat, get in then pull the back part up. So in we get. The seat was so high my feet dangled and my head had to tip right over into a ninety degree angle. So back to the buttons and handles and pushing and pulling. Finally the seat was back as far as possible and as low as it would go. Alrighty then. I turned to Bill to say Okey dokey this is ok and OW!! Something yanked a wee piece of my hair...right out of my head. What the hell? Right where my head naturally sits is a coat hook handelly thingy. And it had hold of my hair. So I take a few minutes and unhook and untangle. So Ok .. I can try to keep my head cocked a little to the side, annoying but doable. Next thing I notice is something is pulling little pieces right from the top of my head. I look up. The roof is covered with a type of texture that not only attracted my hair, but latched onto strands and yanked them. Ok, I can slide down and slouch. I ended up going all over Europe slumped down in my seat with my head cocked over a few degrees...and wasn't that frickin fun!

Living where I do means that eventually you will be walking in deluging rain. I am pretty adept at avoiding this, but, inevitably you will get caught. Now, in my case, not only is this a disastrous catastrophe, but a very painful one. And that is why I never ever walk in the rain...except by unexpected misfortune. To control my hair I have to use product, lots of product. I use industrial strength mousse or gel and then solder it with liquid cement hairspray.

The other day Bill and I went down to Starbucks (not far) for coffee. Feeling frisky, I told him I was going to walk home, not something I opt to do very often. It was pretty gray out but not rainy and the temperature was exactly what I like. So off I set. About two blocks from home it started to sprinkle. OMG!!! Then it moved on to rain and finally a downpour. Being 200 plus pounds, running is not an option. So I gave up and decided I would just let it happen, enjoy the rainy walk and wash my hair when I got home. It didn't take long for the hair to get soaked and the water to start running down my neck, my ears, my face, my eyes....oh my god....my eyes! my eyes! my eyes! All that product turned into a toxic watery stream that followed the frown furrows on my forehead and straight into my eyeballs. And it burned like a hot poker had been poked into them. I had no choice but to take off my glasses (which I couldn't see out of anyway) and shut my eyes. I inched my way cautiously home, hands outstretched in a most Helen Kellerish manner. I made it, but not very happily.

The other night I had gone to bed early. I was so tired and was off to sleep in no time. Sometime in the night I rolled over to un-numb the side I had been sleeping on and I was suddenly hit with a searing terrible sudden burning pain from the top of my head and my head was yanked back so hard I think I almost broke my neck. I immediately collapsed on my pillow and froze to the spot. What the hell just happened? I thought for a brief moment I had had an aneurysm. The violence of it and the pain was shocking. I gingerly put my hand up to investigate. I guess my ponytail had hooked onto a piece of the wrought iron headboard and when I heaved myself, with all my hefty heft, over, my hair, thus my head, stayed right where it was. When you are more asleep than awake, that kind of pain just wakes you right up...for hours.

But...the most humiliating hair moment I have ever had, was at the hairdressers a few years ago. I had decided to go to an expensive upscale place that boasted a computer imaging appointment before you moved to the spa area to have your appointment decisions executed. Righto...I was ready for a change.

I figured I didn't belong the minute I walked in. Everyone, clients and employees,were unfairly beautiful and flawless and dressed in Prada. Here I was, hair from hell and dressed in fleece and walmart running shoes. Oh well, money is money I think to myself. I was shown rather rapidly to a change room and told to put on the gown they gave me and to remove my shirt. That gown would not have covered my right thigh. I kind of laughed and said "No no I will just keep my jack shirt on thanks." So she kind of smiled and then took me over to a booth with a computer. Long story short and after many attempts to try to make me look better with a different haircut, it was decided that my hair needed to stay right the way it was and today we would just wash it for me. (I think they felt like they had to do SOMETHING for the 75 bucks). So over to the lovely mirrored area and beautiful leather chair. It took her five minutes to get my elastic holding up my hair out. Finally, she gets out a hairpick and gets to work. Now, being sorely out of place, being way too fat for their lovely tiny gowns, not having the kind of face and hair that can be changed to improve me are all embarrassing moments. But what followed was truly humiliating. First, as she worked away, she suddenly stopped, pulled at my hair and pulled out a short Ikea pencil. Oh Lord. I stuttered a rather short excuse- (thats where I put pencils when I need them...it must have slipped). She started to work away again and again she stopped, pulled at my hair and pulled out an earring. Jeez, I told her I had been looking for that for a few days now. She started to work away again. This time she not only stopped but let out a little squeal and called over one of the male hairdressers. I am embarrassed to report that they pulled out a fuzzy caterpillar. I had been in the bushes hauling out garbage on the corner of our property just before going down to the hairdressers. I tried to explain but I don't think my explanation made any difference. I just got up off the chair, dropped a fifty on the counter and walked out.

The only reason I haven't shaved my head is because I only have to do my hair once a week right now and with short hair I would have to do it everyday. Nuff said.