Friday, July 17, 2015


I have hair issues.  They go back to 7th grade when I brushed and blow dried my perm every morning until it looked something like this:

While my perm days are behind me (physically behind me...emotionally, they're here to stay), the fact that there is still hair on my head means that my troubles are far from over.  My hair is neither straight nor curly.  I have a widow's peak.  I have bangs that exist to hide my widow's peak.  My neither straight nor curly hair frizzes and curls to 3 times its normal size the second that it interacts with rain, drizzle, fog, the beach, water rides, the splash zone at Sea World, misting booths, or children with water guns. 

If you come near with me with a Super Soaker, I will punch you.

I can't wear a hat in wet or humid weather because:

A) I would look like this:

B) Once a hat goes on my head, it's there to stay. You can't mash a bunch of sweaty bangs down under a hat all day and then take it off in order to pose for - oh, let's say, your UMass freshman ID card - and expect to look fantastic.  No, you come out looking a little something like this:

The reason I'm on this subject is because I'm heading to Orlando in August, and am planning how I'm going to handle eight days worth of frizzy hair/curly bangs hell.  Last night I tried embracing the widow's peak by pulling my bangs back with hairpins.  I'd spent some time online reading people's opinions about how beautiful and unique they are.  Just look at Fran Drescher, Leonardo DiCaprio, and Kourtney Kardashian!  Yes!  I too can be a beautiful widow's peak person!

I came out of the bathroom and my 5 year old son said, "Is that how you're going to look on vacation?" 

Hairpins out.

Plan B is one of these cordless, rechargeable, mini flat irons that I can whip out in the Magic Kingdom ladies' room after either one trip down Splash Mountain, or one rain shower.  The battery charge won't last long enough for both. 

I know I sound very superficial, and it's just hair, and who really cares.  But come on.  We're talking about curly bangs here.

Curly. Bangs. 

No thank you.

If a genie granted me three wishes they would be

1) Make there be an Earl of Sandwich in Central Massachusetts.

2) Make my cats stop throwing up.

3) Make my hairline straight so I can pull it back without looking like Count Chocula.

When I think of all the time I've wasted worrying about my hair, and then I think of all the bald men out there laughing their asses off as they run in slow motion through waterfalls (that's what they do, right?), I could cry.

But I can't cry.  The tears would do a number on my hair.