The Taming of the Hair

She has stopped caring.  The perfect “do” in the magazines never seems to fit her unmanageable mop of hair no matter what product she buys, brush she uses, styling crème she applies.  So her hair gets tied up neatly and pressed periodically with a strong application of coconut oil- anything to keep it from frizzing up and parading itself atop her head.  Mostly she looks in the mirror and harrumphs with the sense of defeat. Well, it looked good for about 47 minutes, but now it’s back to its old tricks.  

She smiles faintly at herself in the mirror knowing it doesn’t matter that much in the big scheme of things, but still, it’s annoying.  She has asked every hair stylist about what to do, how to manage it.  How to brush it, crimp it, style it, cut it, press it, flat iron it, wash it so that it stays the fuck down and doesn’t become the butt of jokes from passersby knowingly commiserating “Oh, my hair used to do that before I bought “insert the most perfect product here.”  

And she has tried everything. Morrocan oil and marshmallow gel, almond oil and special smoothing treatments,  or cutting it all off which works for a month until the front starts acting like a petulant teen who just wants to be heard and won’t back down.    Oh, the money spent at Bartell’s Drug Store, and Aveda and various salons mentioned on Groupon! Each time she brings a product home she has a sliver of hope. “This will be it!” She thinks, “This will be the goop that’s going to propel my hair to the perpetual “good hair day” hall of fame.”  And she applies it and it smells good, the grease still sticking to her palms, which she can smell for the next couple hours until several hand washings make it disappear.  And along with the disappearing smell is the loss of any function the product served.  Hair is back to its frizzy unmanageable state.  

Oh, to have that perfect straight hair, or those glorious tight curls that certain products work miracles on.  Yes it takes work, but it actually works!  She doesn’t care if it’s $45 as long as she doesn’t have to think about it.  Just let it work its $45 magic  so she can go about her day and not worry about stray straws making her appear less professional.    But it’s nighttime and no one is there to peek at her tresses now.  So they go up into a simple bun, gray hairs spiking out like latecomers to the party. They stand around and don’t know how to blend. 

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