I was perusing Ryan’s latest blog and read with
interest his views on his facial hair. It has varied quite a bit
over time, and I must say I prefer the goatee as opposed to the full
facial beard, which makes him look rather like a drunken bum. Which
he is, but there’s no sense advertising the fact. All of this hair
talk took me back in time to some of my own faux pas where hair is
concerned. If you know me, you know that I’m not a raving beauty…I
am fairly average in the looks department. Not actually grotesque,
but not especially great, either. But believe me, there have been
times when I would have made an 80 year old, toothless hag look good
standing next to me. Those are the times I got the “haircuts from
Hell”…
I don’t know if it’s just me, or if others have this problem, but I
can go into a salon with a picture; I can describe what I want done,
emphasizing that my hair has some natural curl to it, so don’t go
too short on the bangs as the hair will shrink up as it dries, and
yet…I come out looking as if a beautician, high on crack, and
wielding a weed eater, chose me as her client. I am afraid to come
out into the daylight for fear that someone will see me before I can
make it to my car and hide. I would give my youngest child away for
a paper sack to pull down over my shorn head. I would drive directly
home in utter shame and run for the bathroom, praying all the while
that it just needs to be properly styled and it will be OK. It can’t
possibly be as bad as I am imagining… I would emerge after an hour
of shampooing, blow drying, stretching, rewashing, etc…to the smirks
and outright laughter of my family. It would take about a week
before I could go out in public with my cropped head held high.
I can remember several particularly bad cuts…one occurred on an
afternoon when I had no time to waste. I had worked earlier in the
day, and then dashed to Watertown for some reason, stopping in at
the JC Penney hair salon for a quick trim. The girl working there
didn’t look like she had much style sense, which should have been my
first clue to get up and run, but being a timid person, I couldn’t
bear to insult her. This girl had really curly hair cut very close
to her head and it wasn’t a pretty sight. I guess when she saw me
come in, she thought I’d like to be her twin. I distinctly told her
not to cut much off my bangs, I look ridiculous with short bangs,
but did she listen? Of course not…the cut itself is so relaxing that
I tended to forget about her cutting until it was too late. When I
was spun around to face the mirror, I almost cried. My hair was SO
short and she had cut my bangs to match hers. I knew there was no
way I could stretch them out and the worst part was that I had to be
back in Willow Lake for a basketball game in an hour. I tried to
come up with excuses to Ryan as to why I wasn’t going to be able to
come to his game (this is in Jr. High when he would have cared). It
was no good, I had to go. I even stopped off at our church and ran
into the bathroom there trying to use hairspray to improve the style
somehow. My attempts were fruitless…the only thing that would help
this time was about 3 months of growth. So, off I went to the ball
game and I got lots of stares and friends saying things like “Oh,
you got your hair cut!” and “It looks nice” all the while their
faces were giving away the truth. I could envision the little word
balloons floating above their heads with sayings like “My God…she
has guts to come out in public looking like that” and “I’d be
looking for a
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good lawyer” and “I never noticed how homely Marcie really is
without hair to cover her face”…I looked like an idiot. A hairless
idiot. I guess every cloud has a silver lining…at least I didn’t
need to get another haircut for like 2 years and my bangs never got
in my eyes.
And it wasn’t just haircuts that were bad decisions…I can recall
getting a few permanents in my time and regretting every one of
them. Why couldn’t I learn to leave well enough alone? Being frugal,
I once asked my mother to do a home perm for me. I drove to Doland
with baby Ryan and she began the task of winding my already natural
curly hair on hundreds (at least it seemed hundreds) of perming
rods, squirted on the solution and wrapped it all in a plastic cap.
I needed to get home in a hurry as friends were scheduled to be
stopping in later that afternoon, so we piled into the car and drove
home (yes, with my hair reeking of ammonia and in curlers in a
plastic cap!) and by then, the perm had really had a lot of time to
take. I washed my hair and lo and behold, it was curly…very
curly…hideously curly and company was coming. Anyone who has ever
gotten a permanent knows that you shouldn’t wash your hair for
awhile; you might lose some of the curl. Yeah, right. I must have
shampooed my hair 15 times and it didn’t lose an ounce of curl. Did
I learn my lesson? No…I think I got 2 or 3 more perms over the next
few years. Each worse than the last.
Another time, (once again, trying to be a penny-pincher), I
purchased a home coloring kit. I had a few gray hairs on top that my
kids loved to point out, and figured I’d just wash that gray right
out of my hair! I have dark brown hair, but when I got done with
this coloring kit, my hair was as black as tar. I looked like I had
spilled a vat of black ink over my head. Again with the shampooing.
I washed and washed and washed my hair, each time seeing the black
dye running down the drain, giving me hope…but when it was dried, my
hair was still as black as the ace of spades.
Maybe it’s a family curse…Jordan has had some horrendous things done
to her hair, too. One time (and forgive me Jordan for bringing this
up), Jordan decided her bangs were too long and she begged me to
trim them for her. She wanted them to be like Gwen Stefani, fairly
short and straight across. She was at an age where I couldn’t do
anything right, so why she asked me, I’ll never know. I did snip the
very ends, but I am certainly NOT a beautician and wasn’t going to
go crazy with the scissors. Of course, I didn’t do it the way she
wanted and she slammed the bathroom door and screamed at my
ineptitude and proceeded to do the trim herself. A long time later,
she finally emerged from the bathroom in tears and had that look on
her face that said “Don’t say a word or you’ll regret it”. She had
indeed trimmed her own bangs and let’s just say that perhaps she had
gotten a tad bit carried away. Anyone around our house knew better
than to utter a single word about the hair, but we were all thinking
the same thing and wanting to laugh, but valuing our lives, we kept
our mouths shut.
I’ve been thinking lately that I should get a haircut. It’s been
months since I’ve had anything done to it. My hair has no style, it
is just hanging straight down (no more perms), there are lots (and I
mean LOTS) of gray hairs, and my bangs are usually blocking my view.
I have been trying to find hairstyles that I like in magazines or on
TV, but just can’t seem to find something that I could pull off.
Hmmmmm…how about a Gwen Stefani?? Maybe I could get Jordan to come
give me a trim! |
