I just got my hair cut and I loved it…when it was wet. When it dried, when the humidity settled in, I wore a beautifully highlighted but not so cool Afro. As much as I love Afros on other women, which we’ll talk about in another post, on another day, I don’t like an afro on me. I don’t look cool or sensational in mine like the boys from Unlocking the Truth or stunning like Beyonce.
So, I’m jealous, too jealous, of all of you straight-haired wonder beings out there. You foreign creatures who need not straight iron but only do it if you feel a stray hair is out of place.
Too abate my jealousy, I became the unofficial stylist in my various groups as I was growing up. I was the girl with the frizzy hair who braided all the other girls’ hair.
I needed to feel the soft silk in my fingers and imagine it was mine. All mine!
My eyes are green, literally, and I truly felt like a Green-Eyed Monster. I wanted their hair. When my grandmother told me that it was the crust from the bread that made my hair curly, I ritualistically broke it off my sandwiches and waited for my hair to uncurl. But, alas, it never happened.
Yes, it was that bad. And, as much as I’d like to say I’ve gotten over it. I really haven’t.
So, I’m going to spend a ridiculous amount of money and get the keratin treatment everyone’s raving about. I will hopefully say goodbye to my curly hair and have a glorious go at straight hair heaven.
Inspired by the Daily Post Challenge.