My hand immediately sprang to my head, smoothing my flat-ironed locks as I bit down on my lip, her disappointment ringing loud and clear. “Believe me,” I assured her. “It’s still there, still obstinate with a mind of it’s own. It’s just temporarily subdued for the evening, it’ll be back in full force by morning, I swear.”
I’m used to people thinking that book is autobiographical. After all, like the protagonist I too was a flight attendant and now I’m an author, but that’s all I’m willing to cop to. Well, that and my character’s temperamental hair.
Growing up, I never really thought much about my hair. It was long, wavy, and present. Demanding to be washed more often than I liked, but other than that, it went mostly ignored.
And then came seventh grade, and suddenly, it refused to do anything right, like it was plotting against me, sabotaging all of my efforts, clearly out to get me, and sadly things haven’t changed much since.
I’ve done just about everything a person could possibly do to their hair—
Big eighties perm? Check.
Japanese straightening? You bet.
Home dye job gone wrong? Um, yes.
Blonde ambition turned Brassy Rendition? Sad but true.
And after all these years, I still can’t figure out just what it should be when it grows up.
My best friend never changes her hair. Oh sure she may trim a few inches, before growing it back out a few more, but basically, it’s exactly the same as it was back in eighth grade. “Hey,” she says, smiling. “When it works, it works.”
And even though it definitely does work for her, I just couldn’t do it. It would feel too much like surrender, as though I was forfeiting the game before it really got started. So as long as I’ve still got the fight in me, it’ll continue to be my own personal work in progress.
So how about you? Any hair neuroses you’re willing to cop to??
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