2 years old: Sprigs of hair but not enough to keep people from thinking I was a boy.
3-4 years old: Still pretty short and mom still frustrated because I could pass for a boy.
5-8 years old: Long, thick, straight, beautiful hair. Mom couldn't get it to hold a curl with all the rollers and hairspray in the world but she was at least satisfied I finally had some.
9-10 years old: Now this is an age where it starts to matter to you also (if only just a little). It's long but has turned puffy and huge and for the life of us we can not figure out why. We decide to cut it short.
11 years old: Hair is still puffy and huge, just short. Also, no boobs yet so once again...that's right....I COULD BE A BOY! Come to think of it, I could have passed as my first crushes twin brother.
At some point during this year my wonderful Aunt introduces me to Mousse. Best. Thing. Ever. Invented. Ever. I am sure I helped fund the founders children's college education.
Photo: Hair in it's Glory Days!12-15 years old: Struggled with what turned out to be natural curly hair. Fits were thrown. Many, many styles were tried but eventually decided to just let it grow out and thank the gods that the puffiness was gone except on rainy, muggy or windy days. Which mother nature always scheduled on picture days, but I digress.
16-17 years old: A pretty little actress named Julia Roberts made long, curly, big hair popular.Hooray! I hit the jackpot!! I'm finally cool! At least, I thought so.
I then spend the next 17 years buying mousse and good conditioner and loving that I am different from everyone else.
34 years old: The hair looks like I am letting a perm grow out.
Photo:THIS! This is now!Flippin Straight Hot Mess!!
35 years old: I cut it all off thinking the weight was making it too heavy to curl.
35 1/2 years old: I sit down in the most talented woman in the worlds chair.
"I would like you to trim it and put long layers in it. I want to come back in a month for a trim one more time and then a month after that I want you to perm it." I say. Not completely discouraged because I have a plan.
"Ok" she says.
She does everything I ask. Then begins to blow dry it, I think to myself that's ok, I know she likes to break out the straightener when I come to visit her. When she is done blow drying it, she turns me around to face the mirror and there sits that 8 year old girl.
"But you haven't touched it with the iron!" I am shocked.
"I know." she isn't shocked.
We then plan to have me spend the next two months seeing if I like this. The thing is...I do...when she does it! But if she isn't willing to move in with me so that she can do it every morning, I'm going to lose my flippin mind. I have had major tantrums (the childish kind). I've broken the picture that hangs up in the bathroom trying to get the brush untangled from my hair. Once I tripped over the blow dryer cord after it wrapped itself around the knobs on the cabinet a few times. My once 15 minute routine of shampoo, condition, comb, mousse and go has turned into an almost 2 hour ordeal that ends in a ponytail. I HATE IT! I type that while stomping my feet!! Stupid, stupid hair!
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