According to my baby pictures, I didn't have any of the stuff until I was around two. I guess that is why when it did come in, my mother chose not to cut it for several years. In my kindergarten pictures, I have long blonde hair - the kind of hair that I would like to have now. By first grade, it was cut. I guess I got gum stuck in it one too many times. By second grade, I had bangs. BAD bangs. I grew up in Florida where humidity is measured not by percentages but by how much your hair frizzes and curls. And my bangs were no exception. They frizzed and curled out the sides of my head like devil horns.
Real disaster struck in the fifth grade. I wanted a new hair style. I wanted to be pretty and cool like the other kids. My mother's great idea was to get our neighbor to cut it for free. It was only afterwards, when I was crying buckets of tears did I find out that our neighbor's hair cutting experience was limited only to patients in the local nursing home. I was 10 years old with an 80 year old's hair cut. No, I've seen 80 year olds with better hair cuts than what I had. It took me years to recover from that, and as a result all school pictures for the next three years are well hidden and/or destroyed.
By eighth grade, it was the 80's and feathers were THE THING. I would work on my feathers at night to save time in the morning (I am NOT a morning person). I would wash and dry my hair, making sure to blow dry my feathers just so. Then I would spray them down with a can AquaNet (glue, really). Then, I would carefully place bobbi pins in the feathers to hold them in place throughout the night. The next morning, I would pull out the pins, brush through the spray, make any minor repairs that were needed, then respray. My feathers never quite looked like Farrah's, but I was getting there. I thought my bad hair was behind me. BOY WAS I WRONG!
In college I decided to get a perm (first mistake). I was home on break and my boyfriend at the time was coming down for a visit and I wanted to look HOT. Curls would be the answer. I found a coupon (second mistake) to a place I had never been (third mistake - I'm out!). I was washed and rolled and sat down to "set". Well, the bell dinged and I waited... and waited... and no one came. I knew then that I was in trouble. I left in tears, looking like a poodle (NOT an exaggeration!). When I got home I washed my hair over and over trying desperately to wash out the perm before my boyfriend got there. Nothing worked. I could see the look of shock on his face when he arrived, but he made the best of it and tried to smile. I knew he wouldn't be around much longer. Who would want to be with "Poodle Girl"?
There have been other bad haircuts throughout the years, but yesterday disaster struck again! I was informed that my husband was taking me to his high school reunion. I realized then that I had 24 hours to try to make myself look half-way decent. I drove to a shop that I had frequented many times before (years before), but was put in the hands of an unfamiliar person. I arrived a blonde in need of a touch up, but that is not how I left. Her first attempt left my hair red, BRIGHT red. She then tried to cover that up with BROWN, with some blonde in between. That left me with some really funky color patches, which then had to go through a third attempt! I left, came home and cried. My kids made fun of me, and more than once I heard "You should have gone to Frankie." Frankie is a friend and wonderful stylist, who is also VERY busy. He has done wonders with my hair in the past and my son refuses to go to anyone but Frankie. So Frankie, I'm sorry I went rogue. It will never happen again! I'm hoping Frankie can fix this mess that was created on my head. No, I'm PRAYING that Frankie can fix this mess!
But leave it to my dear husband to say the right things. "Well, at least it's not as bad as that poodle thing you did in college." God, I love that man!
Bren
