My Hair Part 2: The Haircut

Continued from My Hair Part 1: The Curls


...My mother gasped in horror at the atrocious mess that was her daughter crumpled over the dryer with a power drill embedded in her hair. I was trying to escape the vicious tendrils clenching the drill to my head. I was unaware of her presence, since I was deep in mourning for my current state of pain and more importantly, my lack of curls for which I worked so hard.

I was awakened from my pit of agony by when I heard the dread words escape my mother's lips, "We should probably cut her hair."
My pain was forgotten instantly for, while I lusted after those curls, I knew, with my seven-year-old-sharp intellect, that hair was absolutely NEEDED for those curls to come to life.

Flinging myself off the dryer, I tried to bolt for the door, only to find that I was still attached to the drill,  which was still plugged into the wall. I had used up any escape radius available to me and I knew that I was trapped. While my mother went in search of shears, I wailed on the laundry room floor, well aware that my beautiful, luscious pile of hair was about to be shorn. (To this day, I have no idea what sort of other option I thought I had. If I wanted to keep my hair I would have to walk around with a power drill, cord and all, hanging off my head. Admittedly, having that new accessory would not have been altogether unexpected...)

I heard my mother coming back to the laundry room. Raising my tear-streaked, grubby face from the floor, I attempted to lift my head. This attempt failed miserably since my frail neck was getting sore from holding up my mane...and a seven pound power drill. Lying face down on the floor I listened to the evil *snip snip* of the scissor trying to navigate my head. After fifteen minutes, I felt a weight lift off my head and I was able to drag myself up to a sitting position.

I mournfully looked at my mother who peered down at my with a look I knew well, "Oh my....well, I'm sure it will grow out..." This did not bode well. Not well at all. Sensing the significant amount of weight difference, I knew the haircut must have been substantial. What made matters worse was that my mother would not let me even look at myself until the next morning when I was "in a more reasonable state of mind.." whatever that meant...

I fell asleep quickly, not a surprise I thought, considering the emotional agony of not getting the curls I so desperately desired. I woke with a sense of annoyance since I did not see the flowing locks I was sure I had (I thought I achieved Rapunzel status while asleep). Then, the happenings of the night before started trickling back to me. Catapulting myself off my bunk bed, I raced for the bathroom mirror.

My mother's words rang in my head as I stared at my image. I was to horrified to scream. I just stood staring at the ugliest creature I had ever seen.

My mother had tried to save as much hair as she could, but considering my utter commitment to the curls, I had successfully wound ninety five percent of my hair in the power drill.

My curls would never be a possibility...

I would never look beautiful again...

Vivid images of Gollum raced through my seven year old imagination while my eyes widened, staring at my head. Little tuffs were barely protruding at different length all over my skull and, as I leaned forward, I saw the worst...a bald spot right in the center of my head exactly where I had placed the tip of the power drill.

I looked like one of my dolls that my brothers cut all the hair off of....but worse. I looked like a tonsured monk, or one of mom's chickens that was molting. It was clear...I was hideous.

As the tears flowed down my cheeks, I realized I would never have curls. Curls came to those pretty girls that had flowing hair and smiling faces...and I was a chubby girl-monk.

My mother walked in and tried to comfort me and I wailed out my grief, "I'm so sorry honey, I tried to make it look okay, it's going to be okay though, it will grow out and then you can start all over." She walked out to continue her search of other appliances I might have misused during her two hour absence the night before.

Start all over...hmmm. I stared in the mirror and realized that my brothers had short hair and that they had to get hair cuts every two weeks because it grew so fast. A small hope sprang anew in my little mind. Mom had always said that their hair grew so quickly because she "buzzed"it. I didn't know why, but it didn't matter, it always worked, their hair grew so fast and it was so thick!
Suddenly...I knew.

 I summoned the courage to grin at myself in the mirror, despite the hideous creature staring back at me, because I knew...

 I knew how I was going to get my hair back...and fast.




!!!!!!!STAYED TUNED!!!!!!! for.....
My Hair Part 3: Like A Rainbow

My Hair Part 1: The Curls

There was a time in my life when I had very, very long hair. When I say long, I mean classic backwoods-homeschool-down-to-my-butt hair. I took care of my hair in the good ol' fashioned way...as in I didn't take care of it at all. I chewed on the ends (don't ask why, I have no idea), rarely combed it (or washed it for that matter) and I screamed whenever my mother came near my head with anything resembling a taming device.

Needless to say, I had worked up a good rat's nest on my head, which I only got away with because we lived on farm and people rarely saw me. At the time, I regarded this lack of socializing as a normal way of life and it never bothered me, it was only later that I figured out I was being spared from my utter lack of intelligence...or rather, the world was being spared my utter lack of intelligence. If I had been more exposed to the outside world at that point in my life, I have no doubt I would be sitting in a white room with my arms tightly wrapped around me.

By age seven my hair was in such a state that I could have comfortable housed a family of rabid bats and never noticed. One evening, my parents went on a date and my siblings and I had a babysitter. This was a great occasion because it meant we were allowed to watch a movie. Since movies were such a coveted prize in my house, I would do pretty much anything in order to savor that hour long delight. My calculating babysitter knew that the rabid bats would have to be driven from my hair at some point and used the movie as collateral.

As much as I hated my hair being in a recognizable form, I decided to sacrifice my head to the agony of soap and a brush in order to enjoy all that the cartoon The Sword and The Stone could offer. After my babysitter underwent an ordeal that has probably spared her any time she have to ever spend in purgatory, I peered at myself in the mirror with red mopey eyes.

The ordeal has been excruciating for my seven year old self and I felt that an ample amount of self pity was due. To my surprise, I was quite taken with the object in the mirror! Golly, I was just the cutest little thing with no front teeth and a wet mop of mousey brown hair!
With my hair wet and plastered to my head, I thought, "Why curls in my hair would make me the prettiest girl in the whole wide world!" After admiring my beauty for a full three minutes, an idea occurred to me...I will look even BETTER! In fact, I will look BEAUTIFUL and FABULOUS!!!

Grinning to myself in the mirror, and thrusting my jaw out (because my bottom teeth fully made up for my front teeth being missing for nine months if I smiled like this) I decided that curls were just the thing to top off an otherwise flawless beauty. I pondered how to achieve these most necessary curls. The only object that I had ever seen make curls was my dad's power drill. When screwed into wood, the shavings from the drill bit came out all crisp and curly. It made complete sense. I knew what I had to do.

Luckily for me, I knew exactly where dad had left the power drill that day, right on top of the dryer, plugged in even, as if to say, "Yes young girl, go curl your hair and become the beauty you were meant to be!" I scampered up the dryer and grasped the heavy drill with both hands. I had seen my dad use it a millions times and was fully confident in my skills. As I heaved the drill above my head with my scrawny arms, I thought, "If I place it on my head, all my hair will my curled, at once!" This seemed like the most efficient way to go about it. I placed the drill squarely on the top of my skull and pulled back the trigger. It took about half a second for me to realize that this was not going to go as planned.

I did not have the strength to push the drill down hard enough for a hole to be deposited into my cranium  but the drill succeeded in whurring all my hair into a tornado of pain atop my head. I could not pull the drill off since my hair was all caught in it, letting go would pull all my hair out. My hands were stuck gripping the drill to keep it from penetrating my skull and my hair was doomed to all be swept up and returned to it original form; a bat's nest.

My screams filled the house and at that moment my parents came home. I do not know what disturbed them more, the fact that I almost gave myself a lobotomy, or that I thought a power drill would curl my hair. Neither said much for my intelligence. After I was untangled amid tearful wailing, I heard the dreaded words, "We should probably cut her hair..."

COMING SOON!!!!
My Hair Part 2: The Haircut