I have big hair. Really. And I didn't love the 80s that much. It is just that I have curly hair. Girls with curly hair tend to have big hair.
I've never been very good at *fixing* my hair. It probably didn't help that I was raised by a mother who doesn't know how to "do" hair. She is of the old school. You know, the ones who have a standing appointment every Friday to get the hair washed and styled. And then she doesn't wash it again until, well, the next Friday.
Vacations of my childhood were planned around her hair appointment. "We can leave after my appointment." Or, "We have to be back on Friday by 4."
I used to question her lack of hair washing. As for me, I have to wash my hair EVERY DAY! When I don't, the curls stand up on the crown of my head making me look like Alfalfa's love child. My mother can't relate. I once asked her if she got hot and sweaty. Like after exercising. She then proceeded to demonstrate the rigor of her finger exercises. Apparently, they don't make her break out in a sweat.
I was in high school before I learned to NOT brush my hair. This was also around the same time I learned to use gel. Nothing says "I look good" like crunchy hair. Since then, I've had basically the same hair with varying lengths and degrees of crunchiness.
This past weekend, I went to a new lady for a hair cut. After the cut, she dried and ironed my hair (it took a LONG time) until it was straight as a board. Amazing! I loved it! Immediately, I bought the straightening cream and a round brush never thinking about the time it would take to carry out this straightening act every morning.
Mr. Strong took one look when I walked in and said, "I hate it. How long will it be that way" which motivated me to say something like "forever."
On Sunday, I had high aspirations. One of my friends and her husband were coming to dinner. I was going to surprise her by opening the door with straight hair. The scene in my mind was great. She was going to rave about my hair and prove Mr. Strong wrong. My hair was going to look GREAT!
After over an hour of drying my hair (really, untangling the damn brush from the curls that kept popping up like a bad dream), I started in with the flat iron (and that thing is friggin hot) borrowed from the kids.
What a disappointment! In the end, I looked like Buster Brown.
There was no raving over the new do. So, I took her shopping for shoes in my closet and gave her a golden egg.
Any one need a round brush and straightening cream?