I felt this deserved its own post. It was that traumatizing/hilarious/traumatizing again.
As one of my numerous posts from last week attested (I have no life and therefore spend most of it writing on here or raising Sims) I actually had my hair cut and styled on Wednesday. It was obscenly expensive, but I really didn't care because my hair looked wonderful. I'm not being vain, it just looked way better than it ever did before and made me look ten pounds lighter, which is always a good thing when you are religiously opposed to diet and exercise. *shivers* Anyhoodles, I was feeling quite good.
Then Saturday came. It was time to wash my hair. I was kind of apprehensive at first, but figured that the nice little stylist had told me exactly what to do and given me the products to do it with. And I'm not stupid. I figured I had it made. So I wash my hair and comb it out and put the stuff in and scrunch it and let it dry (as per her instructions). And it dried.
In a horrible flat-yet-frizzy shadow of what it had been a few hours earlier. Nothing resembling a curl was visible. It was just crunchy and straight and kind of resembled dreadlocks a little bit. I was horrified. So I , being an rather intelligent, mature young woman, went crying to my mommy. Well, I wasn't really crying yet, but still.
My wonderful mommy who raised me to be rather intelligent and mature yet to always come to her with my problems, told me that yes, my hair really did look awful, and that she would help me (she is something of a hair godess, she's been helping my sister for years.). So I dutifully washed my hair again and brought her all the obscenly expensive products that I had been instructed to use and let her do her thing.
Oh. my. gosh. It sooooo did not work. We tried scrunching, as that was supposed to give it height. I suppose it did, but only in the sense that I had a ball of fuzz where my hair was supposed to be that reached about six inches into the air. I looked like Fran Dresher stuck her finger in a light socket.
So I rewet my hair. We are going to start from scratch, this time trying to emulate the handy little dryer that they had at the salon with a diffuser.
Oh. my. gosh. It worked even less than the time before. First of all, my neck was stiff because we tried having me lie on the ground with my hair spread out behind me so that we didn't actually have to touch it dry it, thus negating the possibility of more frizz. It didn't work. So then we break out the curly product crap that is supposed to work and tried scrunching again. SOOOOO not.
Fran is now standing in a puddle during a thunderstorm with a frickin' pole putting Ben Franklin to shame.
My sister was sitting in the chair and just started laughing. When I looked up, rather hurt that she would find my follicle-related pain funny, she tried to convince me that she was simply "having a party in her head" and really wasn't laughing tears because of me. Yeah. Sure, sweetie. It lost some of it's crediblity when she looked away and stopped laughing but whenever she glanced back at me she would be choking laughter again. Even my dear sweet mother was like "Oh, thank goodness we're going to Irish Fest for Mass tomorrow, because I really don't think you'd want to go to church where people know you!"
The final straw was when my little brother, who is a typical male and wouldn't notice if my hair turned purple with pink polka-dots, walked in and his little eyes got really wide, really quickly. Ugh.
Finally, we agreed that the brillo pad on my head wasn't going to go away, and Mr. Sheffield wasn't showing up to ask me to be his nanny, so I should just wash all the junk out of it and just let it be, because, honestly, anything would have been bettter than that.
And do you want to know the ironic thing? I simply washed it, combed it and pulled it back, just like I've been doing for seventeen years (well, the first couple I wasn't doing it myself...), which flew in the face of everything that cute little stylist said at the salon. And it looks perfect.
Ironically, I love it even more now that it's so low maintenance. :)
3 comments:
If Fran Drescher had a kid with a Gentile Chia Pet it would look like you looked on Saturday. But it looks great now.
And why is Mommy a hair goddess simply because she's been 'helping me for years'? Does it take a deity to make my mane look good?
I didn't mean that, I simply meant that she knows what she's doing...you don't need a deity to make you look good.
Hey, that chia pet thing was kind of mean!!!
The hair looks great! The new cut just gives you this different vibe that makes you seem so much more happy and vibrant! (Not that you weren't before) I love the new look!
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