Technical difficulties Saturday, Happy reading!
I’m jealous of my husband’s hair.
His hair always looks pretty much the same. There is just one version of his hair. When it grows out and it’s a little long, it still looks about the same. Or just after a cut? Still the same head of hair. With very little effort, he and his hair look pretty darn good.
I want to tell you; he’s older than me—by three years! Okay, maybe that’s not a lot, but still, he is older. Just this year he announced he has some grey hairs showing up.
“Should I pull them out?” he asks.
“Oh, shut up!” is what I wanted to say. Actually, I did say that.
I have been covering my roots for at least ten years. I don’t know what my natural hair color is at this point! Oh, that’s a lie—I can’t seem to stop. My hair is gray; that’s what color it is.
So this is Version #1 of my hair: My gray roots are showing. I really wish hats were popular again, like they were in the 1940s. (Confession: I have a romantic love of the 40s, and not just because of the hats. The fashions were fantastic, and so were the movies.)
In this version, my gray roots are showing, and I’m trying all sorts of things to cover them up. Hats. Scarves. Spray paint. You name it—I’ve tried it.
And this is Version #2 of my hair: Morning Hair. I go to great lengths to avoid this phase. On the days when I have washed, blow dried, and flat ironed my hair . . . at least a one-hour process . . . I spend almost as long that night carefully arranging my straightened tresses on the top of my head. This is my attempt to save my style to wear a second day.
On the days when I don’t go to such extremes—the days I haven’t washed, blow dried, and flattened my curls into submission, and then strapped them to my head—I wake up with a crazy mass of hair pointing in every direction.
I have some wonderful memories of our daughter Maddie waking up and padding down the hallway with this exact hair style. She was so darn cute! She didn’t mind, or even notice, her Version #2 hair style.
Not so much on MY bad hair mornings. There is absolutely nothing cute about it. I can’t figure it out either. I go to sleep on the right side of the bed and wake up on the right side of the bed. The blankets and pillows seem to be in the exact same spots! What the heck happened to my hair!?
This is another reason I am jealous of my husband’s hair. If he wakes up with morning hair, he can fix it in just seconds. He simply dips his head under the faucet, towel dries, and voila—his hairstyle is restored.
Even so, it’s a little funny to see him crouched down to get his head under the faucet. One holiday weekend, we had a house full of company. And since he didn’t have access to a bathroom, my husband stuck his head under the kitchen sink. My Uncle Bob, witnessing this for the first time, thought it was a hilarious sight to see “the man of the house” with his head in the kitchen sink!
And me—I was still jealous of his hair. That day, I awoke with a bed head.