Sunday, February 17, 2008
Weeks of cool, moderate weather have deluded me into thinking I have some control over my hair. It's been smooth, straight-to-wavy. You know: manageable.
My hair has been on a 3 day mission to let me know who's the real boss of me. She means well but she's sort of a mess. She's channeling Magrat Garlick.
I left a IKEA yesterday (which was positively clotted with humanity) during an hours-long downpour. I walked under my umbrella pushing a buggy of a few glass things I'd bought'n. At the car, the tissue wrapping the glass stuff was soaked, so I had to set the umbrella down and pick up the glass things from the cart with both hands. 5 seconds in the in the rain and suddenly my hair was very heavy. What once hung below my shoulder blades was now thick, ropelike coils of completely soaked hair hanging now only to my shoulders. As it dried, it got larger and larger.
If my hair must be the boss of me, I wish it were more of a benevolent dictator.