Your Crowning Glory
Today’s topic is hair. If you live in Florida, the term “good hair day” is an oxymoron.
Actually, good hair days do exist, but since the brain gives more weight to bad hair days, it only feels like they don’t.
Women take their hair very seriously, and I’m no exception. Today, after my morning exercise, I got a quick glance at my hair as I walked past the mirror… the word “electrocution” comes to mind.
Hair is said to be a woman’s “crowning glory.”
That’s a lot of pressure.
For some women, “crowning glory” hits the mark, but for many women it’s the slim divide between what separates a good day from a bad day.
My Hair’s History
The truth is…I love my hair. I’m just happy to have hair. Even as an infant I was follicley challenged. My mother had to stick a bow on top of my head to convince the public I was female.
Then, as a child, there was the “Tonette” experience, where my once straight locks were twisted into tight curls making me resemble the then over- 80’s crowd.
I had more personal control over my hair as a teen, but it meant undergoing what felt like acupuncture of the head. Those curlers were like miniature needles you were supposed to get a good night’s sleep on. You had to be a little bit masochistic to put yourself through that torture. Every woman I know praised the introduction of the foam rubber curlers… so pink…so feminine.
When I say I love my hair, one of the things I cherish most is the color…gray. I waited a long time for this. For years, I colored my hair. When I told my dad I was going back to my natural color, he replied, in his deadpan fashion, “What color is that?”
All Is Not Lost
I’ve figured out a way to profit from the bad hair day curse. In “Fried Green Tomatoes” I noticed one of the characters, Sipsey I believe, covered the mirrors when Ruth Jamison died. That was a custom back then.
I believe this custom should be extended to women on bad hair days.
Maybe I’ll start marketing “ Bad Hair Day Covers” for your mirrors…probably more lucrative than playing the lottery.
Isn’t that what’s called “making lemonade out of lemons”?
I have to add one more annoyance to my list of stress triggers…credit cards and the identity monitoring services. When I get alerts, instead of feeling grateful for the heads up, it sends me into a frenzy.
This means I have to sign onto my computer, and recall two important facts, my User ID and my password. Given that I have hundreds of these, this is no easy task.
Yes, I know I can use one of those services, or apps, where you helplessly surrender all your passwords. Doesn’t that sound like trusting that every password floating around in the cloud is secure? Where is the cloud, anyway?
I think it’s located in a building somewhere inside, of course, a computer. That doesn’t sound too secure to me. It means I’m basically letting strangers handle my most private information.
Didn’t your mother tell you not to talk to strangers?
As it turns out, because I haven’t used my credit card at a certain store in a few years, they cancelled my card.
The nerve of them.
Didn’t they practically beg me to sign up for their card in the first place? Isn’t it in my best interest to buy big ticket items on the credit card that gives me cash back?
Why was I so generous? Was the cashier that convincing? Somehow, I must have felt that opening that account was somehow helping her pay off her cards…another example of the saying, “No good deed goes unpunished.”
Not the First Time
It’s happened to me so many times, I’m almost afraid to do a good deed. I’ll continue, though, because I was a Girl Scout and went to Catholic school. But I’ll admit, the thought, “this is going to come back to bite me,” does cross my mind.
Case in point: The other day I let another car merge in front of me. Then, I watched as that same car sailed through the yellow light while I was stopped cold at the red.
I had to laugh. I could almost hear a little voice, probably mine, saying, “I told you so. No good deed goes unpunished.”
Bottom line, I believe in paying it forward, and I’ll continue to be a good- dooby.
But, like many time -tested adages, there’s a reason for this one.