(Ugh...I'm embarrassed to even show these. Oh, well. Think of them as evidence.)
On top of her head sat four cute little curls. Each one had been tended with the utmost care. She had (and still has...who am I kidding), without a doubt, the thinnest head of hair I have ever seen. I realized, at that moment, that my follicles were a gift of genetics. I also realized that I, too, would be wrestling with the curlers in my old age in an attempt to create a full head of hair. I fear, however, that my situation will be much worse than hers when I am her age.
I absolutely hate my hair. Why do I hate my hair? In a Shakespearean bout of frustration, let me count the ways:
1. My hair is thin. Let me rephrase that. My hair is EXTREMELY thin. It is so thin that it can be curled, flat ironed or dried within seconds. If I sat with wet hair for more than 20 minutes, my hair would be a completely frazzled mess of thinness, similar to a plate of linguine from Caruso's that you know you shouldn't have had (let's be honest here...one should never eat at Caruso's). My hair is so thin that I have taken hairstyles to various hairstylists to hear them say, "Oh, Dana...you can't do that. That would never work with your hair!" This ponytail explains it all:
2. My hair is fine. No, I'm not talking about "Will-Smith-Dang-You-Fine-Girl" fine, I am talking about the fact that my hair is so fine that the people who invented fiber optic cables are looking into my hair as a lightweight option to their current model. The Dana Farr Cable might be heading to your home soon, carrying with it all sorts of HDTV goodness.
3. My hair is greasy. And yet, my hair is also dry. Can someone explain to me how this happens? How does hair fluff out into dry tufts of nothingness, and then at the same time form greasy strings? Can anyone explain this phenomena to me? I usually find that even on a "good hair day" I'll spend time on my hair, get it just the way I want it...and then look in the mirror later to find that it looks terrible. It hangs in fluffy, odd little strands. They look like individual pencils, writing out disaster.
4. The right side. It won't curl in when I try to curl it under. It won't curl out when I try to curl it out. The right side of my hair read all of those history books I endured for my Master's Degree program and changed its democracy-loving ways. The right side of my hair has adopted Bolshevism, and my left side's policy of Containment isn't helping (because, really - did "Containment" ever work?).
Now, I realize that I should be thankful for my hair. Any hair is better than no hair at all. My father-in-law, uncles, and many of my cousins may not appreciate my little tirade. I do understand this. But, I also realize that ranting about it makes me feel better, and in an American, "do what feels right" culture, it just feels good to rant and rave about my hair.
Besides, that's better than being depressed about job situations...right?
(My apologies to my lovely, wonderful, tenderhearted, and amazing Granny. Her hair is much better-looking than mine - I just know that I had to get this thin hair from somewhere.)