Tag Archive | hairbrush

To Hair With It

{if you ignore the title everything will be peachy and I won’t have to kill you}

I glance in the mirror, shudder at my disheveled appearance and pick up my phone. The screen lights up and glares at me dauntingly, flashing the numbers 8:12 and the words “Run CT, run” over and over again. Cursing, I pick up my hairbrush and try to pass it through the mess of knotty curls that amasses on my head when I forget about the existence of a blow dryer. The hairbrush gets stuck and makes a dull cracking noise when I pull it out of my hair. 8:13. Well, I guess that today I’ll just look like a lion that hasn’t gone to the hairdresser’s in a billion years. My parents should be so proud.
On the upside, I’m not late for school; although as I slip into my seat at 8:29 my friend looks at me sympathetically and pulls a brush out of her bag as a silent offering, while across the classroom, another friend looks at me, touches her hair and frowns. And so my day begins.

In case you hadn’t noticed (you wonderfully perspicacious human being) from the hairy tale above (get it? I made a pun! Shakespeare would be so proud), my hair is a sore point for me. I inherited my mom’s light golden color and my dad’s crazy Einstein wave, because of course having straight blonde gorgeously perfect hair like my mother’s that allows for the perfect bitch-hairflip wouldn’t have been fair to other girls anywhere on this colorful planet we earthlings call home. In this spirit my hair alternates between straight with a stringy wave and slightly poodlelike, depending on the days. I get a lot of questions asking what I’ve done to my hair on any particular day, most of which can be answered by a simple “I brushed it” or “I didn’t brush it”. A notable example came in June of last year when I was studying in the library. A dude from my class came in, stared at my head and said “did you go to the hairdresser’s? Your hair looks so… orderly.” No genius, that’s the power of a hairbrush. I’m not offended, really I’m not.

Although my blonde tends to look like yellow snow in the summer and muddy golden retriever fur in the winter, I have always been proud of the color(s). Why, you ask, would I be proud of having a melanine deficiency which has prompted numerous degrading stereotypes? (oh do please ask, otherwise my ensuing reasons are completely without a point) Well for one, it’s true, blondes have more fun, since we have a certain liberty to do what we want, no matter how silly, because when in doubt people will always use the blondeness as an excuse to justify a choice. Secondly, our hair completely changes color when it gets wet: from yellow to brown and back again. How cool is that? Thirdly, when it’s hot out, your dark hair attracts and sucks in heat while ours says “no sweat, I got this” and repels the rays. Finally, let dark haired girls be forever jealous: most of us fine-haired blondes don’t have to shave our legs. That’s right ladies, none of that excruciating wax business (well, I imagine that it’s excruciating, truth is I haven’t had to go through it. yet. (don’t want to jinx myself))  for me. Chew on that, suckers. So go ahead, tease me all you’d like… in the long run, I’m the winner.

Live long and prosper \V/
Yours sincerely,
The Mostly Confused Teenager.

PS: I wrote this post back in November and completely forgot about it. I know I know, I’m blonde.