Hair Wars

Let's go back to something really important today. Hair. Come on... we all obsess over it, don't we? Look at the time and money we spend on it, and the drama we go through when it just won't behave. I have thrown hair brushes at the mirror more than once. I've refused to leave the house on bad hair days. I've loved it, hated it, cut it, grown, it, braided it, twisted it, colored it, and put it in all sorts of terrible bedtime bondage, only to hear it go crrriiiinnnnng in the morning fog, and poof out like a tumbleweed. It's wild and unruly and has a life all its own, which I keep interfering with. For years all I wanted it to do was be long and straight and blonde. It mocked me by remaining frizzy and brown, no matter what length I hacked it to, and I was always amazed that other women would actually pay good money to have hair like mine. I even named my hair Loretta, for the Beatles song, "Get Back". I'm forever pushing  it out of my face, and saying, Get back, Loretta... It's been a very unhealthy relationship for a very long time.

It's only been in the last few years than I've begun to make peace with my hair. I finally learned that curls, these precious curls, are to be treated like fine fabric. Despite their rebellious appearance, they're much more delicate than straight hair, and tend to dry and frizz and break ever so easily. I learned that I should never "launder" my hair, but instead, should gently massage dirt away with buckets of conditioner, followed by more conditioner, and then a little more conditioner left in as a styling product. I trim it myself every couple of weeks. I've thrown away my brush, and no longer use a hair dryer. I just wait for it to dry on its own, which it knows how to do, all by itself. And finally, finally, after so many years of Hair Wars, I have called a truce. I didn't think it was possible, but Loretta and I are friends.

Since simplicity is the theme of my life right now, it makes sense to keep paring things down to to their essential best. So I'm taking it one step further. I think. I think I'm going to stop coloring my hair, and that's something I've proclaimed over and over again I would never do. But here I am, long before "never" has a chance to happen, tired of my hair being various unnatural shades of orange, purple, and black, and pretty sure all those chemicals I've been absorbing through my scalp can't be good for me. I'm not fooling anybody, except maybe myself. I've been slopping dye on my head for so long, I'm not at all sure what my real color is. I know there's some grey in there, but I'm going to call it "silver". It might look good. Who knows? And besides, I just really want to know what I really look like. Maybe there's something hiding on the inside that's been trying to get to the outside. Or maybe I'll just look old and tired and crappy...

I have sworn Rick to honesty at all cost. If I begin to look like a weathered old hag, he has the dangerous duty of sitting me down and telling me... Honey, it's time to talk to your friend Miss Clairol. He is Very Brave and has put up with a lot of hair silliness over the years. And long before I did, he liked my hair.