Baby Hair Blues
Well, hats off to all the ladies that are blessed with baby hair. And not just any baby hair, the fuzzy-kind that you can't tame or tease or do anything to hide. It just so happens that my baby hair is the kind that is spread out all over the upper lining of my forehead and concentrated conveniently at the very top of my forehead, a.k.a. my widow's peak.So it all started one Tuesday morning when the handyman was running big-time late. So, since I am all about punctuality-and assuming everyone else holds the same conviction high regard-I was ready by 8:00 o'clock sharp. 8:30am came and still no sign of the handy man...Then 8:45...9:00 crept up...hmmm, you get the picture.
Until the handyman did decide to show up, I thought for once I would be a gurly-girl and "get ready" for class. Cuz normally for the first couple of weeks of class I dress up just in case there are some hot guys, but after that, if a Nick-Zano-look-alike doesn't seem to be attending my class that particular semester, I just go in whatever feels comfy. Anyways, I start getting ready, right? I'm talking about full-out-cake-the-make-up-on-gel-through-tease-up-straighten-my-hair ready!
Combing it to the side is when I noticed. There was the FUZZ. That Dang rebellious little fuzz smack on top of my head that would not side with the rest of my hair. I would think that after the hellish temperatures I put it through with the curling iron, blow dryer, and straightener that it would have done so. Boo.
Now how the Hell am I supposed to deal with this? Let me reiterate: Now how the Hell am I supposed to DEAL with this? What would any girl in my position do? It's not like I didn't try other options first, I mean, cummon'! I tried the curling iron, the blow dryer, and the straightener...got to give my kudos for that at least.
Then, while staring at myself in the mirror (brainstorming ways to resolve the fuzzy issue), I saw in the reflection a tube of depilatory cream on my bathroom shelf. Ah-hah! Never has a sign from God ever been so clear! Never have I felt, to this degree, the complete assurance of what I was about to do. I would fry those little fuzzies off the top of my head till kingdom come!
Yeah, um, that didn't work. My hair is too thick. And so much for signs...
I felt defeated. Conquered. Betrayal, by the depilatory tube that pulled through for me before on a many occasion. There was only one thing left for me to do...cuz I wasn't going to let the FUZZ get in the way of my fabuloso day. I must sacrifice the Fuzz with blade, once and for all, in the name of beauty. I hated to do away with the one thing that was closer to me than a friend for so many years, in such a barbarian-kind-of-way, but the fuzzy issue had gone far enough (and besides the handyman was coming).
I reached in the tub for the schick-quattro-for-women shaver. I reached for the turquoise-equate-shaving-cream can. Dabbed a marshmallow-size ball on my widows peak, and ran the blade over the blasted fuzz. It was finished. All is took was one slide of the blade, and my little fuzzy-friend was gone. All that's left is the untanned-unblemished-quadrate-space my widow's peak fuzzies once proudly occupied.
No sooner had I sacrificed the fuzz, had the handyman knocked on my door. But it was too late. The damaged had been done. I turned on the faucet, and with teary eyes watched my baby hair fuzz whirlpool down the drain.
posted by Becca @ 6:40 PM
Comments: 1
