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 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
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