Hairy Scary

by Shirley Bahlmann
I've talked to lots of women who hate their hair, but not my little sister, Bev, who admits she's been blessed with luscious wavy dark red come-hither locks. I side with our oldest sister, Melinda, who claims that while we were being created, Bev got in the hair line twice, leaving Melinda with the only thing left over: thin, limp, blonde hair.
I was in line by Melinda.
The funny thing is, lots of women straighten their hair to make it as straight as mine is naturally. Me? I curl mine. I also tease it, which made me look twice at those ladies who sit in front of me in church with little tufts of teased hair showing between thin strands that didn't get combed over all the way, or else were blown all askew by the wind. Not attractive. Sometimes when I smooth my hand over my hair, I feel the little lumps, like mice in their nests, and it makes me shudder.
But if I don't do something with teasing or spraying or threatening to shave it all off, my hair spits out clips and combs and scrunchies. It's very subtle about it, taking three or four hours to let the hair accessory slide to the floor.
Once I saw a picture of me, (complete with hair) at mid-day, after I'd spent half an hour fixing it that morning. If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn I'd just lifted my head off the pillow after a night filled with nightmares.
The other day, the tarp I tied around my front porch (in lieu of an addition that hasn't happened yet) came loose. I climbed up on a chair with fresh twine and tied to my heart's content. When I was done, I felt something tugging at the back of my hair, beneath my ponytail. I reached back and felt a twig stuck in the strands.
A twig? Where had that come from? We didn't have any trees growing on our porch.
So I worked it free and brought my hand down to find my brand new dangly earring in my fingers. Yes, one ear was bare and one wore the other earring.
What the hey? Now I have earring stealing hair!
All right, I'll admit that it's nice to have hair of any kind.