Bad Hair Youth

#25:  A Hair-raising Tale
 
There's one person in the office who would always  try to guess if I was going out with friends after work on a particular day. 9 out of 10 times, he would get it right. When I asked him what it was that gave me away, he said, "It's your hair. When you wear it down, I know something's up." Hmm. I never really saw it as a freakily precise index of my social calendar but come to think of it, maybe I say more with my hair than I actually intend to.
 
Last Friday, as I was driving to a meeting, I noticed a little girl happily walking with her mom. She was about 7 or 8. She was thin and dark and too far away for me to see the features of her face. But she had long hair. And while she wasn't dressed so prettily, the way her hair just flowed as she bounced along to keep up with her mother's pace made me smile. It was actually a sad smile as I wondered why my mom didn't let my hair grow long when I was a kid. I would always have this cropped blah hair that, on top of my being dark and scrawny, made sure I faded into the background in all class pictures. No, I never even wore any of those ridiculously huge candy-colored hair ribbons.
 
When I was around 7 years old, I asked my mom why she never braided my hair. She just said, "I don't know how to. Besides, I'm a simple person. Simple people don't do braids." I don't recall if she actually said that brains mattered more than braids but that's what I got out of that. And I never asked her again.
 
It was close to ten years after that when I came to the point of saying "I think I've got the brains part figured out. It's time for me to stop having bad hair. " Another 10 years after and I've got my hairstylist for a bestfriend. I still don't do braids nor bright ribbons but my hair now is long with a lot of character. There's no fading with this hair now. Hah.
 
One time, after bumping into one of my old officemates at the mall, my friend Rachel asked me, "Why is it that you always seem to untie your hair when you run into someone?" Wha-? Huh? I got ready to protest; but after a blink or two, I realized that, hey, it was true. I had been doing it unknowingly.  Wow. I didn't know she was that observant. I didn't even realize I was that predictable or that consistent.  To release tension maybe? A subconscious form of 'loosening up' perhaps? Or maybe to just plain look better by whipping out my "magic hair."  I don't know.  All I know is that unless you're under 8 and completely dependent on your mother for your styling needs, there's  no excuse for having bad hair.