It’s Alive!

In case you don’t want to read the entire post that fired up my response, you can cut to the chase here.

I just posted to this blog all about my hair. It’s something I’m pretty passionate about. Ms. Hellish Behavior had my exact opposite childhood hair experiences. Please understand it was my mother’s best intentions to control my hair which had a life of its own (still does). That was back when the best hair products included Dippity-Do and Brill Creme.  I vaguely remember some other great goo in a gold-colored tube. The blogger’s father wanted her to keep her beautiful, thick, black hair long and uncut. My mother wanted mine hacked off. It kind of goes along with my insane boot fetish! Mothers, be careful what you do to your children!

How funny – our lives with our hair are polar opposites. Sort of. I have thick unruly, curly, frizzy, freakishly weird hair not unlike that of the Abominable Snow Man’ s body hair. My mother had no idea what to do with it or how to reign it in, so my worst childhood memories include going to the beauty shop so Renee could hack it off with a razor to “pixie” status rendering a most unflattering hairstyle for a little girl who already lacked self-confidence and suffered from poor self-image as well. I longed for long hair. I begged and pleaded to no avail.

Adulthood brought me the ultimate – control over my own hair, and therefore, my own self-image. Once in control of my hair’s destiny, I was master of my universe. I can recognize my mother’s good intentions. I have memories of little old ladies feeling my hair and asking if I were wearing a wig. These thoughts and memories were present, but I grew it out anyway determined that before I died, I would have long hair. Magnificent it was! With a little gel and a lot of glaze and spritz, my hair became an icon! You can definitely find me in a crowd. My description always includes, “big, frizzy, curly, red hair.” I love it.

So after a time, I decided that a little “spiked” haircut would be the “cutest” look for a new me after a 25-pound weight loss. It was the absolute worst thing I have ever done to myself. Realizing the horror of the new cut while still in the salon chair, I didn’t cry. I didn’t freak out. I just moved forwarded resting in the assurance that in about a year, my hair would certainly grow back, and just think how healthy it would be! I was right. In a about a year, maybe a year and few months, my hair was near shoulder length and I was once again resting assured that those who knew and loved me could recognize me in a crowd should we ever be separated. It is something that I shall never repeat, and I acknowledge that I will go to the coffin with this big, curly, frizzy, freakishly weird hair, that has taken a lifetime to know and love. I just don’t know how the undertaker will get the coffin lid closed.


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