Crazy Hair

I don't just have bad hair days, I have "crazy hair."

During my entire childhood, my hair was short and straight and thin and boring. Most people thought I was a boy (though I'll be the first to admit that I acted like one). I remember my mother wrapping my head in a kerchief in the spring so that the black flies wouldn't tear my scalp apart. My hair was hardly an obstacle for hungry northern black flies. It also helped distinguish me as a little girl which saved everyone a little embarrassment -- at least until it was warm enough for sundresses.

As a young girl, I kept growing my hair until I could no longer be mistaken as a boy. When I entered high school, I had long, straight hair down to the middle of my back. By the end of my first year, I cut myself some bangs to "change it up" a little, but I was growing bored of my hair. I wanted something more contemporary. I wanted a hair style.

I remember going to my mother's hairdresser one Saturday morning. I took in a picture of a model with long, layered hair (think Jennifer Aniston...though she hadn't been discovered yet). The hairdresser started layering my hair and that's when it happened...all hell broke loose. Seems there were curls hiding in there somewhere. Having been weighted down by my long hair, they suddenly sprung to life when the weight was lifted by the sharpened shears of the hairdresser. Oh, she was so happy. "Look at the curls! Look at the curls!" Not curly enough, evidently, because she came at me brandishing a curling iron and didn't finish styling me until my head was covered in tiny tight curls.

I was absolutely devastated. In fact I cried. I remember saying that it looked like an old lady's hairstyle. (In remembering this event, I also recall that both the hairdresser and my mother had similar styles which makes my comment both rude and accurate at once. Sorry mom, but when I was 16, anyone older than 25 was OLD.)

My mother and sister and I were supposed to go to town shopping afterwards, but I flatly refused to leave the car. I stayed slumped down in the backseat because I was afraid of being seen (I was also 16 at the time and my ego was as fragile as puff pastry.) I went home and washed it and tried to blow-dry it flat, but it just looked stupid to me. With classes on Monday, right around the corner, I knew I had to keep trying. I ended up washing it again and then blow drying it while I hung my head upside down and pouted. Minutes later - shazam - I had crazy hair. "I can live with this," I thought. The style was kind of "rocker chick," and it was the era of the big hair band, so the world righted itself on its axis and began to turn again.

Not ten years later, I cut it all off. I found my crazy hair too labour-intensive for a busy schedule that revolved around the needs of two young children. I wanted something to wash, run my fingers through and be done with. A little hair product and I'm out the door. I found it so easy to take care of and a little more professional looking, so I kept the short hair for many years. When I left my job last June, I stopped making trips to the hair stylist. Eight months later, I now find myself back at "crazy hair."

I'm trying to decide whether to cut it all off again, tame it down with a trim, or just allow it to grow its wild self out. I don't feel as attached to my hair as I once did. By that I mean, I don't think I'd cry if I got a bad haircut. I might ask for my money back, but I'd still smile and want to make sure that the hairdresser wasn't upset because I wasn't pleased with his/her work. These days I worry more about the colour than I worry about the style. Style doesn't seem nearly important when I see silver strands amongst my curls. I think hats not haircuts.

Every time I think of my crazy hair, I think of the same thing. People who have curly hair usually say they would like straight hair AND people who have straight hair usually say they would like curly hair. In fact, some people pay big bucks for their own version of crazy hair. I guess I shouldn't complain.

Sorry for rambling. I'm going to log off now. Maybe head over to e-bay to look for some ceramic straighteners, or maybe a barrette. A fedora? No. Make that www.l'oreal... :)