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.
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?
Zayd: 'Cause I love your fro.