Sunday, June 6, 2010
A Story About Hair
About 3 times a year I have sleek hair that moves. This is always directly related to my thrice yearly visits to the hair salon. I always sort of ask if there is anything "different" we can do with my hair with both my hairdresser and I knowing that different may be a slightly longer fringe or a 1/2inch more taken off the length. I did once have a radical haircut that totally didn't suit me in the early 1990's. It was one of those very short up the back bobs that the male very heterosexual hairdresser who totally used to intimidate me by touching my legs, had coloured a deep ruby mahogany colour, for free. Leg touching was a small price to pay for a free colour I think he thought. I've even asked my hairdresser when I'm getting too old for my hair, and I need to trim it back to a respectable, more age appropriate length. But I'm not there yet.
Normally my hair is a wedge of matted curls. I like to think of it as my birdsnest. This is particularly true if it has a colour growing out and then the birdsnest is a mass of split ended, dry, yellowing hair. Nooice!
The other day I was waiting at some lights and the woman in the car in front of me started brushing her hair. In long languid strokes, she brushed, then gathered all her hair in her hand and smoothed it, then stroked again. Over and over and over, she brushed and stroked, brushed and stroked. Then just when the red light was going stale (traffic terminology for about to change colour - heard THAT on the radio one day!), she did one final gather and flung it silkily over her shoulders where it settled perfectly.
Now I'm absolutely not exagerating when I say that I think in that 3 minutes we waited at the lights, she brushed her hair more than than I have in the last 6 months. Seriously!