Before I begin, I want to show you what I would want my hair to look like, every day, if I could wish on a magical fairy, lucky leprechaun, or generous genie. This is how it looks when I pay someone $50 to style my hair (for a wedding) and there’s no humidity:
See? Pretty pretty precious hair. I need a stylist on retainer.
My hair is thick. Like abnormally thick - deceivingly thick. Thick enough that every single time I go to the hair dressers (and I do mean EVERY time, even though I can go to the same stylist for years) someone in the salon will say, “Oh my god, you have thick hair.” The way it was described to me was that not only is the physical width of the hair strands itself thick, I just also happen to have just that much more hair than the normal person. Ask anyone who has had to clean the bathroom after I’ve been in there – there’s a lot of hair and a lot of that hair commits suicide every day after deciding that it is no longer fit for this world and the life it lives on my scalp.
A lot of people will say that they are jealous of me and my uber thick hair. I like to smile weakly at these people and then generously offer to donate as much of my hair as they want if they decide that a hair transplant is somehow in their future. Sadly, my offer is genuine. Don’t get me wrong – I am grateful that I will never be bald. I am grateful that as I get into my seventies that I will never have to investigate the cost of Rogaine for Women. But right now? The here and now when I’m not collecting Social Security and wondering how music got so damn loud – it’s a pain in the fucking ass.
Let me ask you this, ladies of the world – Not including the washing and conditioning of the hair, how long does your hair take you to do? 10 minutes? 15 minutes? A whole half an hour? After my hair is washed, it takes a full hour to dry and straighten. Oh sure, I could not straighten it. I could let those odd curls and manic nonsensical waves take over so I look like a sad homeless woman. A picture is greater than words. Below is a picture of me and my hair (it is an alter ego of mine – my hair – I should name it but I’m afraid it will get a big head – pun intended). This picture was taken after I straightened it but the humidity got to it so it ended up looking only slightly better from before the straightening process.
I obviously hate this picture with a passion. I'm only showing it to world for the sake of science. Notice that my hair appears to be eating my face.
I’m bringing all this up because this past weekend I decided to spend the hour and do my hair. I consider doing my hair as a special occasion type of thing reserved for weekends out and job interviews. The rest of the time I throw my hair in a pony tail, which looks awful on my odd shaped head, and call it a day. It’s actually amazing how different I look with my hair up vs. when it’s down. Andy used to make jokes about his Hair Down girlfriend finally coming out so don’t tell the Hair Up girlfriend. I’m getting off track here.
Yes! So this weekend we’re out at the pub watching the World Cup Final. The World Cup Final brought out a lot of people that I don’t think go out that much and which ultimately means that I normally don’t see them. The entire day I had people coming up to me telling me that they loved the way my hair looked down and that they’ve never seen it that way. Basically I had people come up to me all day to let me know that Hair Down is the way to go and that Hair Up sucks monkey balls and how do I ever consider leaving the house that way? Thanks everyone. I know how bad Hair Up is.
Hair Up? Sucking Monkey Balls.
I could write a novel about my hair but for the sake of keeping my readers, I’ll stop now. But before I do I have to say again, if you ever want any hair donations - I’ve got my hair clippers right here.