Hair Here!

Sunday past, Jdog and I went to my parents' for dinner. I know, I know, why? Well its the holiday season and well we just did. On Thursday past I was totally annoyed and done with the braid mange and pulled out all braids. On Friday I dyed it from the putrid pink to bold black. The month of braids actually helped my hair grow even faster than usual and I have a full blown blacktastic fro. It is totally wild and out there. Wanting to avoid more mockage, and because frankly I missed wearing hats and bandanas, I donned a blue bandana for the voyage to my childhood home.

During dinner my mom finally noticed what was different and commented about the lack of braids. She (shockingly!) asked what exactly I was doing with my hair. I said I will likely braid it again. She said well, can't you grow it like Jdog's. Once again ma - NO i cannot. Have you not noticed over the course of the past 38 years that my hair does not grow down it grows out??? Apparently that little fact was completely new to her. She then embarked on a very interesting conversation (could it be a soliloqy?) about how some people have thin fine hair (her) and others have curly hair (me) and that we all need to learn to work with our hair.

No shit was going to be my reply but instead I sarcastically said something like - really? hhmmm? I didn't know I would have to work with my hair? I then again pointed out that I work fine with my hair, that I like what it does and I am happy with it. In a bold and shocking move she got up from the table and decided to show me how to "work" with my hair so that it went into a style. My father sat in stunned silence, waiting I think for me to explode into a rage heretofore unseen by my parents, and jdog almost spit out the water she had just attempted to ingest.

My mother has not touched my hair since about 1977 - leaving that task to hairdressers, who by the way simply made me look like little orphan annie, leon, and me. So, I was flabbergasted that she went to the bathroom and came back with a comb with pick on the end. Anyone who knows about curly hair - as she professed - should know that applying a comb to curly hair is a recipie for disasterous frizz and uncontrollableness. This factoid was unknown to my mother. She proceeded to PART my hair and begin to comb it. I was suprisingly calm and allowed this to happen. Perhaps jdog's presence and the fact that I too was highly amused (you know how I love to be part of making everyone in the room laugh) made me sit still and let the combing continue.

While combing, she said things like - oh this looks nice; why can't you just style it; you know you can put rollers in your hair and that would make it straight (no fucking way) ok how about those straightening irons (i actually now like my afro); oh this is looking good; you can wear barettes, combs, hair pins (again, not fucking happening); and the like.

My dad was laughing. Jdog was literally almost peeing herself; and I was just sitting there incredulously allowing this woman to touch my hair. Well after the part and the combing and more oh this is just so nice, look how nice this looks, I got up to see the results of said hair taming.

The mirror revealed what jdog and my dad were laughing at and what I could have guessed my hair looked like. It was a hair nightmare. The "working" with my hair produced a style that could only be described as what would happen if Michael Jackson and Donald Trump reproduced and had a kid and that kid looked like a cross between a puberty ridden Peter Brady and Tiny Tim. Yep, that is exactly what it looked like.

If my mom never touches my hair again, I will be happy. If the current trend continues, in the next 30 years one or both of us will be dead so this is sooo not likely!!!