Sunday, May 2, 2010

To curl or not to curl

Now that I don't have an entire dissertation to write, I've got some extra time on my hands.

So I decided to take a stroll back in time -- To the days it took me two hours just to do my hair.

Ah, to be young and living in the 80s again. Actually, I used to straighten my hair until about 5 years ago when I decided to boycott the 2-hour prep time in favor of a more natural look.

A couple of nights ago, I just straightened a part of my bangs. 

That small step was met with strong resistance from Zayd.

Zayd: What is that?

Me: What is what?

Zayd: What is that? That. That?

He is pointing to my bangs.

Me: It's my hair.

Zayd: What did you do!? Why did you do that?!

Me: I was just playing around.

Zayd: Don't. Don't.

Me: Why not?

Zayd: Because. Put your hair the way it was before.

Me: Why?

Zayd: Because.


Zayd: Because you look beautiful with curly hair.


So, the next day, (since Zayd was at a sleepover and wouldn't be around to be traumatized) I decided to straighten all my hair. I didn't have all the proper tools with me anymore and it had been five years since I did it last. I wasn't sure I even remembered how to do it.

Who was I kidding? It was like riding a bike. It all came back to me.... and I remembered why I didn't do this anymore. My shoulder and forearm was killing me by the time I was done. Far too time-intensive -- I have grown to love the fact that it only takes me a half-hour to get ready in the morning.

Not to mention, it didn't look quite as glamorous as I remembered. I sorta looked like an Anne Bancroft kinda Mrs. Robinson kinda look. So I pulled it back into a hairband...

Then I looked like - well... some sort psycho of Becky Home-ecky.

 After all that work, I took a nap. When I awoke... Zayd was standing over me.

Me: Hi honey. How was the sleep over?

He didn't respond. He was looking at my hair. He looked devastated.

Me: You look sad. Did you not have fun? Did something happen?

He continues to look over my hair. I'm not going to get out of this one.

Me: What are you looking at.

He points to my hair. And as if it is infested with lice, he carefully uses his index finger and thumb to pick up a strand.

Zayd: Why did you do this?

Me: I was just playing.


Zayd: I can't believe you did this.

Me: Honey. It will go back to curly tomorrow.

Zayd: But how!?

Me: I'll wash it and it will be back to its old self.

Zayd: So you won't do this again?

Me: No.

Zayd: Good.


Zayd: 'Cause I love your fro.

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