Friday, March 5, 2010
It’s that time of year again… the time of year where it’s been a few months since I got a haircut, and the split ends are starting to show up. I’ve been procrastinating getting it cut again, though, because, well… I hate getting my hair cut. It’s not the actual act of cutting I don’t like. I definitely don’t mind people touching my hair. I just don’t like judgmental hair people touching it. If you’re reading my blog, chances are you know me. And my hair. And you know exactly why when I walk into the salon and I’m greeted by a perfectly coiffed girl who’s been flatironing since kindergarten, she always gives me a look that says “Like, OMG honey, did you stick your finger in a light socket?” and then the innocent questions start. “Do you usually straigten your hair? You just wore it in a ponytial to get it cut, right? Have you tried this product before?” And pretty soon I have a whole basket full of expensive products being “highly reccommended” to me. So I have a lot of hair. I just don’t know what to do with it. I grew up with all brothers, remember? So even though I can explain everything from the electoral process to the BCS system, curling irons still mystify me. I can use them (and straighteners) for minor touch-ups, but when it comes to transforming my whole head full of hair, it ain’t happening. Guaranteed, if you see me in anything more time-consuming than a ponytail, my roommates got their hands on me. Because even if I did know how to do all that stuff, who wants to spend that long in front of the mirror every morning? I personally have more interesting things to look at. There are definitely advantages to being low maintenance, though. During my freshman year when everyone else was spending an hour getting ready for a dance, the boys would get tired of waiting and leave, taking me with them. And let me tell you, the uneven ratio wasn’t a bad thing. I mean, what were those girls doing??? They must have been straightening each strand of hair individually, because I don’t think I could spend a whole hour getting ready if I tried. I don’t think they realized that not a single guy there noticed they had curled their eyelashes. They’re boys, for crying out loud. I doubt they even registered what color half the girls were wearing. Yeah, there’s probably a lot of guys that have passed me over for dates because I’m not as primped as other girls. But those guys are shallow anyways. Some day a guy is going to realize that while other girls were perfecting their mascara and curling iron skills, I was busy learning to cook and sew and talk football. I may not be able to do a french twist, but I can make a heck of a loaf of french bread. And I’m pretty sure that’s going to count for something in the end.