Wednesday, December 8, 2010

The Hair Diary

Ask my cousin Heidi or my Aunt Cindy - they could tell you how they would often long to play with my hair as a child, but I wouldn't let them. It was nothing personal...but the only person that could 'mess' with my hair was my dad.

Since I can remember, I have always had long hair. My Grandma Burton and my mom share a story that continues to be the tale of all hair woes. When my mom was younger, she used to swim all the time, making her platinum head of hair turn a vicious shade of green, at least, that is what my Grandma tells me. All my mom remembers is my Grandma chopping her long hair off. Being thin, her hair often matted to her head, making it seem less like a bob. My mom said she felt like she was a boy until she could grow her hair out again. Ever since then, my mom has been a huge proponent of long hair. Both Jamie and I had no choice....long hair it was.

Growing up in Scottsdale, both Jamie and I lived in the pool. I remember the distinct smell of Ultraswim, the best shampoo and conditioner ever that helped us get all the chlorine out of our hair. I also distinctly remember the smell of Infusium, a leave-in conditioner-like substance that helped mom brush out our oh-so-ever-chlorinated hair. The swimming part of my hair was fun. I could hide behind my long strands in the water, pretending I was a mermaid. The brushing part of my hair post-swimming was SO painful. My mom is this very gentle and sweet lady, so you can imagine that she would slowly, ever so slowly, brush our hair. I think this mild brushing contributed to how tender my head became. I therefore hated when other people would want to play with or attempt brushing my hair.

The only person that I would let get a brush through my hair was my dad. He would brush fast. Like a band aid ripping off, he would take 10 strokes and all the gnarls would be gone. It was amazing. My dad was also the only one who could put my hair in a pony tail or pig tails because there were absolutely no bumps. I remember hating bumps.

Sure, I have come a long way since then. Every time I get close to cutting my hair, I will tell my mom and she will shriek "No, don't do it. When I was 9 years old, your Grandma chopped my hair off....blah blah blah (insert dialogue here) and I will never forget it! If you cut your hair, you will regret it! Don't do it! I love your long hair!"

Alas, I have had my hair cut a couple times since moving away from home. I have never regretted the cutting part. I have, however, regretted the stage where it rests on my shoulders. It is a very awkward stage for hair, almost like the hair is confused. Does it want to lay straight? Decide to be curly? It is just plain awkward, right?

So, lately, I have had the hankering to get a 'professional' doo. My hair is about to the bottom of my bra strap (a little shorter than I have worn it prior to this year). My top layer is just to my shoulders, a little past that awkward length. I keep wanting to do something about it...and then, I will have a really good hair day. I end up smacking myself for even thinking or considering cutting it.

I dressed up in this old-lady shirt the other day that I LOVE. I bought it at the thrift store and it reminds me of something my Grandma would wear. It is a silk pink, gray, black and white blouse with shoulder pads. It buttons in the back and has a high collar and a little bit of a puffy sleeve. With my black pencil skirt, knee high boots, antique jewelry and tailored white coat....I felt very stylish. But then, oh then....there was my hair. I can't describe it. It just sparkled. It laid on my head just perfectly the day I wore this outfit, too.

This circumstance alone convinced me that if hair will get me my dream job!

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