Today I’m having a Good Hair Day.
The kind of day when my shampooed, conditioned, towel-dried hair, lightly finger-styled with a dab of product, manages to dry into the perfect position. And every time I catch a glimpse of my reflection, I think, “Nice hair!”
I have to enjoy these days while they last because, with my unruly bangs and impossible curls, they’re few and far between.
When I was little my mom would sing me a song.
There was a little girl who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her fore-head.
And when she was good, she was very, very good.
But when she was bad, she was hor-rid.
I loved that song!
But I did not love my bangs. I was a teen when fashion required long thick bangs that would stand nearly straight up when teased and hairsprayed sufficiently. My teased bangs would make a pretense of standing up straight, until I walked out the door. Then very quickly the ends folded over, my natural curl dictating its own sense of style.
Pregnancy did something wonderful for my hair, all three times. Thick, curly, absolutely luxurious locks! Those days I felt like an unwieldy tent in my let’s-pretend-we’re-not-pregnant maternity garb….but my hair looked fabulous!
Last week I was having a Good Hair Day…until I went to the bank. An innocent errand I tried to squeeze into my afternoon. As I parked outside the downtown coffee shop, those black clouds that had been following me from home gave up and literally poured down on me. I made a flip-flop dash down the sidewalk, around the corner, past the restaurant with metal tables and into the bank, bemoaning their lack of a drive-thru. Dripping my way to the window, the lady smiled at my half-drenched self and made a light comment about the weather.
A Good Hair Day hairdo simply cannot survive a summer storm, I’m afraid.
With the right cut and tools I might be able to wrangle my curls into acceptable fashion submission, but I lack the daily dedication and the actual desire to do so. Instead, I have chosen a short cut that allows me to finger style a bit of direction into my ends, enough to enjoy a few moments of decency before a sunset drive in my convertible wreaks blissful havoc and I’m met at the door with “You drove with the top down tonight?”
But today was a Good Hair Day. I’m sure that was the reason for the cashier’s double-take as she glanced at me, mid-scan. That curl in the middle of my forehead finally decided to cooperate, and I smiled at the silent compliment.