Yesterday I had my all important holiday hair cut and weave…the one I would have crawled to on hands and knees if it had come to that. Yes, I admit it…I am hair obsessed…just ask my husband. Now you might think it’s because I have beautiful, shiny, long flowing tresses…and you’d be wrong. My hair is anything but that. I have wavy, dry, now-thinning hair which has driven me to distraction my entire life. Growing up in the 1960s, all I ever wanted was long, straight, parted-in-the-middle hair just like my sister…you know, the kind of hair you can just get out of bed with, shake your head and go. Instead, I’ve had to deal with blow dryers, styling irons, gel, mousse, hair spray…you name the styling product and appliance, I’ve used it at some point in my life. I’ve worn my hair permed, straightened, long, short, shagged, wedged, poofed, flattened…just about every hairstyle ever considered fashionable. Pity my poor hairstylists…they’ve had a crazy person to deal with.
Speaking of hair…you might have notice my “new” profile photo. Yes it is truly me…it is NOT a boy. Just before my first birthday, I began pulling my hair out while I slept (yes…it’s more about my hair). While the pediatrician could not explain the cause of this unusual behavior, he suggested to my mother that she cut my hair as short as possible so I could not grab onto it. Sure enough, my mom decided to do just that and, after a period of time, the behavior stopped and she allowed my hair to grow back to a normal girlie length. As for the clothes, it was winter and my mom was a very practical woman…dressing us in shirts, dungarees (no, “jeans” hadn’t been invented yet) and oxford shoes. What can I say…she didn’t care if her daughters were mistaken for boys…she just wanted to keep us as warm as possible.
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