The woes of hair — or lack thereof — are shared by many. I was blessed — cursed? — with naturally curly hair that Vicki inherited. However, she has a section in the front that’s straight. She mentioned that she might get a little perm in that one section. I was inattentive and didn’t warn her. She called recently. “I have a horrible hair story,” she wailed. “The stylist said she’d have to perm my entire head. Now I look like I have a Granny do!”
Oh dear! Here the poor thing was calling for sympathy, but I’m ashamed to say that I lost it. I kept visualizing her in a Granny do, and was also swept back to memories of my own hair tragedies that weren’t funny at the time, but about which I can laugh now. Foolishly, when I was about ten years old my mother asked my sister-in-law to give me a Tony home permanent to better control my hair. I wept secretly over the result that looked like a very bushy Afro.
Then there’s the problem of coloring. When Granny was a young woman, dying one’s hair was a major no-no that meant one was “fast.” Granny hated the color of her hair and decided to dye it. It turned purple, and she had to wear a hat everywhere she went for several months.
When my hair began to turn white I started coloring it with Lady Clairol, leaving a white streak in the front as I felt that after one reaches a certain age, one should have some white hair. One day Bill said, “Lady Clairol isn’t enough. You should have your hair dresser tint your hair.”
My natural hair color was a very dark brown, but not black. I told the stylist, “Now, I don’t want fake-looking, too-dark hair. Also, leave the streak in the front.” My hair turned out coal black with a white streak. After a good cry, I taped a note to the door into the house: “Do not mention my hair!” Bill came into the kitchen where I was cooking. He waggled his head from side to side and said, “Oh . . . oh . . . I don’t think it looks so bad.” “Liar!” Later — much later! — he admitted that I had looked like a skunk.
I’m truly not exaggerating. When I arrived at the office the next morning Mark, one of the managers who was a younger man, staggered, clapped a hand to his brow and exclaimed, “Whoa Baby!” My boss, Linda, chuckled merrily. That evening I went to list a house inherited by two sisters who were meeting me for the first time. They could hardly keep from staring at my hair. We drove to Montana a week later. En route I saw waitresses behind the counter, nudging each other and snickering.
I went to various stylists with mixed success. I spent $130 at one salon and ended up with frizzy, auburn hair. I have never set a toe in that place since! The hell with it! I’ve given up tinting my hair. Bad hair cuts are a whole other subject. Fortunately I found a stylist who knows how to cut my hair.
My hair changed in recent years so that it felt like straw. My G.P. recommended Argan Moroccan Oil conditioner and shampoo that work wonders. However, one day I mixed up the identical bottles and, instead of conditioner, applied shampoo which left gummy, gooey mess.
When my very thick hair started thinning a dermatologist recommended Biotin. Recent lab tests showed that I was deficient in protein, so I started eating thick Greek yogurt and cottage cheese every day. My hair is now as thick as when I was young.
Sometimes we sit behind ladies at the theater who probably can’t see a small bald spot on the crowns of their heads which could easily be covered with proper combing. I know that I’d want my husband, family or a friend to tell me! wclarke@comcast.net