The other night, my boyfriend and I were out to dinner at a lovely local Italian restaurant. We dined on an assortment of bruschetta (pronounced brus-KETTA, as an angry Florentine waiter once corrected me), a delicious pizza and lots of wine. Date nights are always lovely with him. We talked about life, our jobs, our upcoming vacation and the usual date-night topics.
We also discussed our server’s hair.
I feel as though when I make a statement abut how my boyfriend and I discuss someone else’s hair, the record comes to a resounding screech and everyone looks at me. Alas, it is true. My boyfriend and I had an in-depth discussion about our server’s glorious curly hair. At the end of the conversation, my boyfriend informed I was a total creep.
The real truth is that I, a straight-haired lass, have always envied my curly-haired counterparts. Like many women, I envy those locks I do not possess. I imagine that I can just swap scalps and place that head of bouncy curls onto my head. You got a head full of long, wavy locks? I want it. How about a beautiful natural Afro? I would love that too. Basically, I will lust after anything that departs from my boring, straight blond locks.
I was born with stick-straight blond hair. When I was young, my hair was thin and fine. Of course, my mother found it prudent to keep it in line with a darling little bob cut. Sadly, even back then, I wanted nothing more than long, lustrous locks. Curls weren’t so much my desire as real length and thickness of a mane. Curls would be the icing on my green-with-envy girlish wants. My bob with bangs was not the look for which I longed. For that bob, I was certain that my mom was the meanest mom in all the land. Of course I have realized that her keeping my hair cut shorter was not a punishment. I was quite darling like that, I can now see.
In order to appease my envious and occasionally downright bratty soul, she would attempt to curl my fine crop with her trusty curling iron. Of course, within an hour, it was flat as a pancake. As an adolescent, I would spend hours of my day wrapping my straight locks around hot rollers, then furiously spraying those curls into place. Sadly, unless it was a dance competition and I was spraying the ‘do in its high pony-tailed and scrunchied glory, I was left with limp, over-sprayed hair and a head full of tangles by lunch time.
Over the years, my hair has gotten not only darker (high five if you’re rocking the dirty blond look these days too) but also thicker. Sadly, time has not produced any sort of glorious curls on my head. I now have a dirty blond color with some semblance of waves and cowlicks that prevent me from rocking any blunt bang look look. Bobby pins are my best friend. So is dry shampoo, but that is another story for another day. However, I still long after curls as evidenced by my recent date.
In my defense, our server that evening had the most gorgeous, lustrous curly mane. Her hair was so lovely, even my boyfriend commented to her about its level of gorgeousness. I nearly asked her if she’d consider trading scalps for a bit with me. What? Doesn’t everyone talk about propositioning other people for a scalp trade? Hello?
My boyfriend was right, I am a creep.
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