Bodacious Boomer

Since I’ve been so busy of late I’ve been neglecting myself-doing my girlie things that is- polishing my nails, putting color on my hair and so on. It’s been almost 4 months since I last put color on my hair. Thank goodness, since my hair is so curly and I use Natural Instincts, which is only semi-permanent, I don’t have a harsh line where my hair changes from brown to salt and pepper.

I’ve been noticing for awhile now though that I really needed to take care of this, for me. Once upon a time, long, long ago my hair was so shiny that you needed sunglasses to look at me in the sunshine. My hair was radiant. It almost had a halo, like you see in religious paintings. These days, not so much. It looks a lot more like some fake fur you’d buy at Walmart to make your kiddo into a caveman for Halloween.

I’d always heard that when your hair turns grey that the texture can change too. I guess I’d never really noticed the texture changing because I’d always kept color on it. After I brushed my teeth last night I stood for a minute and looked in the mirror. I did a double take, kinda like Kramer would do in Seinfeld when he saw or heard something that shocked him.

My hair has always been curly, something I stupidly fought for decades. The last twenty years or so though, I’ve come to embrace my curls, really love them. Last night as I was running my fingers through my hair, AKA brushing, when your hair is curly,  I noticed that I had a knot in my hair and try as I might I couldn’t get it out. I had to cut it out. This was something new. This one part of my hair near the bottom, had become super curly, almost inhumanly curly and just curled itself into something that could not be undone. How odd.

At that point I thought that perhaps I should take a thorough look at my hair, something I hadn’t done in years. When you have really curly hair your hair just is- there are no styles except for putting it into some kind of ponytail or up do perhaps.

I took a hard look at the salt and peppery part. Instead of going into ringlets, this uncolored hair looked confused, like it didn’t know what to do. First it went one way, then another. Each hair looked like the path a pinball might take in a pinball machine. What’s with that? It’s like I just saw myself for the first time- and it was scary! How long have I been walking around like this? And why didn’t anyone tell me? I stood at the sink probably looking like the RCA dog with my head tilted to one size. I was puzzled.

Any thoughts of letting my hair go “au natural” have now gone the way of the dodo bird. If I let my hair go natural, eventually I’d look like the love child of Sam Jaffe and Professor Irwin Corey. No thanks. At this point I think at my end they’re going to have to pry my box of Miss Clairol out of my cold, dead hands.