Drink Me

I reached the end today.  With my hair, that is. This dry weather and now high humidity has made it closely resemble a highlighted tumbleweed.  Not a good look, at least for me.

I’m a member of the curly-haired crew.  Curly hair tends to be dry. I can’t wash my hair every day. Curly hair doesn’t like changes in climate.  It adapts, sure, but it ain’t pretty sometimes. Curly hair is not managed. It is simply handled. Think of it like a temperamental actor. You need them to finish filming their scenes. Each day, you work with what they offer and massage it into a semblance of something recognizable.

Time to engage a professional. I ventured up to our local Sally’s Beauty Supply. I quickly stepped inside before I chickened out.

“Can I help you?”

A brunette Amazon with a pierced nose greeted me. Her azure eyes quickly took in my flammable mane.

“Um, I think I want to look around a bit,” I hedged.

Truly, I had no idea what I needed. Full disclosure: the space under my bathroom sink is where hair products go to die.  If they don’t work, they live in exile among the spiders.  They get pushed further towards the back, lonely and unloved, until I go on a cleaning bender and throw them out. In the past, I spent as much as $25 on a bottle of shampoo.  This was before we had 2 kids.  I can’t stomach it now.  I’m hesitant to try anything new in case it fails and ends up gathering dust. I’m a drugstore kind of gal and usually get along just fine with basic products.  But today, desperation reared its ugly head.

I wandered the aisles. No thank you to the hair pieces.  Or travel hair straighteners, which resembled brightly colored staplers. I wasn’t in the market for false eyelashes.  Surely I could live without the gallon-sized bottle of blue acetone. I knew I didn’t need Brazilian wax.

I found a small section of all natural products for curly hair.  I’ll be frank here and say I don’t much care if my hair products are organic or man-made.  I know to avoid certain chemicals that cause buildup. I read labels.  My limited experience with all natural products has left me underwhelmed.

I consulted the kind Amazon.  She led me back to the spot where I’d found the all natural products.

“These are what customers say they love.  Smell this!”

She twisted open and thrust a jar of goo under my nose. The substance resembled whipped mayonnaise and smelled like an ambrosia salad. The price tag read $25.

“I just wish I had curly hair so I could use it,” she said with a sigh.

No you don’t, sister, I thought as we laughed together about life’s funny quirks.

She also pointed out another jar of similar size for much less.  Aha!  I wouldn’t feel so ridiculous buying that.

The phone rang.  As she left to answer it, I considered my options. Would I, could I, in the rain?  Would it, could it, be a pain?

I made my decision and brought it up to the counter, figuring almost anything would be an improvement.

“Oh, so you found something,” she said, smiling at me.  “Did you open it and smell it?”

Uh, no. I was more concerned with efficacy.

She opened the jar.  I took a whiff.  Strangely coconutty, like a piña colada.  If nothing else, I’ll smell intoxicating.


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