Straight Haired Women Suck

Straight-haired women suck.  Okay, so that might be a bit harsh, but there's a reason for my animosity.  It's a simple reason too.  I have curly hair.

My straight-haired family and friends always say things like, "Your hair always looks so...um...pretty?"  The involuntary pauses, the fleeting oh-crap-what-did-I-get-myself-into expressions, and the questioning utterance of "pretty" are not lost on me.  I know my hair is anything but pretty at most times.  On its good days, my hair is somewhere less than battery-cables-attached-to-my-nipples wild.  My Dad has always said it closely resembles the South end of a northbound sheep, except it's not white, yet.

Curly-haired women in movies do nothing for my self-image.  I used to love Nichole Kidman's gorgeous curls in Far and Away.  Her hair was long and red, always backlit, came complete with its own stylist for the movie, and was flawless even upon waking.  I guess this would be thanks to the stylist, or team of stylists, who neatly arranged it on the pillow and probably primped and prepped it every five minutes, but I used to believe it was just the way her hair was; obedient.  My hair is anything but obedient and I'm incredibly jealous of obedient-haired women.

When I wake up each morning, it is obscenely obvious that I do not have a team of stylists arranging my hair on my pillow.  As I sleep, my hair conforms to whatever force is pushing on it at the time; sort of like pipe cleaners.  The effect when I wake up is...stunning?  Even my kids agree.  Kacy regularly asks me, "Mom, why don't you leave your hair straight like it is when you get out of the shower?"  Or she offers advice like, "Mommy, just brush your hair and it will be straight like mine."  Just to prove a point to my perfect-haired child I brushed my hair one evening before bedtime.  My plan backfired though.  Kacy enjoyed the effect so much that she claps her hands and begs me to do this again for entertainment before bed each night.  I can't fault her too much though.  She's only five and she did speak up one day at the fire station to inform me that I'm the most beautiful Mommy in the world.  My elation at her loving compliments, especially in front of all the guys, didn't last much past her addendum of, "Except when you wake up in the mornings.  You look like Medusa when you wake up, Mommy."  Thanks, kid.

Tradd, (I swear to you I think that the pesky Y-chromosome sometimes blocks his Common Sense Response box in his brain,) tried to patch things up.  As a comfort, he offered this bit of wisdom, "If you didn't say that about yourself the girls wouldn't think that."  What?!  Are you freaking nuts?  I didn't give birth to kids with no eyes, you straight-haired punk.

I actually do try to tame my hair.  I'm not sure why I try though.  The outcome is always the same.  I buy special shampoo and conditioner for curly hair.  I buy gel that "controls the frizz."  I buy curling spray to add after the gel in hopes that it will seal the deal and my hair will not succumb to the Carolina humidity.  All the products promise seductive phrases like, "soft, lustrous curls," or that "luxuriant, wavy look."  None of them mention that if I don't put enough goop on, the humidity will turn my spring-loaded head into the frizz-fro it naturally is.  And then if I put too much goop on I end up with a head full of extra-flammable crunchy coils that are useful when struck against flint at a campsite, but not very practical in everyday life.

The most frustrating part of trying all these products, aside from the cost, is that after several failed attempts I give up and stomp out of the bathroom in frustration.  When Tradd sees me ticked off he always asks, "What's wrong?"  I can usually only muster phrases, expletives and repulsive facial expressions when I'm pissed about my hair.  Again, whether it's guys or straight-haired people I'm not totally sure because Tradd is both, but he always offers the same words of kindness to comfort me.  "What's wrong with it?  It looks like it always does."

I usually end up back in the bathroom, spitting more phrases and expletives at myself in the mirror as I take one more stab at controlling my hair.  Typically, after pondering and dismissing the use of the razor in the cabinet, my morning styling sessions end in defeat.  I simply have to accept the fact that curly hair sucks sometimes.  I give up and get on with my life, avoiding every mirror possible.  I pretend not to notice that, as other people approach me, their eyes leave my face for a quick flick at my untamed mane before they head skyward in search of the North Star that one of my curls is hell-bent on pointing out to everyone.  I accept the insanity of my hair daily.  I don't have a choice.

Acceptance does nothing to ease my animosity toward straight-haireds though.  Why do straight-haired women feel compelled to tell curly-haired women dumb little lies anyways?  Lies like, "You don't know how lucky you are because I can't get my hair to ever do anything.  It just...pfft, falls flat every time.  At least your hair does something."

Apparently either the never-defined "something" mentioned is preferable to straight, sleek, always manageable hair, or these women are lying through their teeth.  Being the pessimist that I can be when it comes to issues of the hair, I tend to think these women are not well-wishers at all, but rather vicious heathens bent on spreading lies with their wicked forked tongues.  I'm pretty sure that they know they are the lucky ones.  In fact, I'm certain that they prefer the "pfft" to the "something" that my hair does.  I don't even think most of them say these things to me out of good intentions, but rather a desire to give me a false sense of worth so that later on, the total destruction of my psyche will be that much more fulfilling for them when they decide to flip the switch that will push me over the edge.

Maybe I'm acting a little paranoid, but if you have curly hair you will understand.  If you have perfect, straight hair (because straight hair is always perfect) then you don't have any room to speak.  You can't see past your own aura of perfection well enough to notice the lion's mane that frames my face and threatens death to any passerby who steps too close.  I may be in the minority with my curly hair, but at least my hair's got my back...you straight-haired ladies better learn to keep your comments to yourself or watch out.