I woke up this morning and I couldn’t see.  Had I slept in my contact lenses again?  Had my childhood nemesis, the puffy eyed stye come back with a vengeance?  Was my head under my pillow in a bid to block out my own snoring?

Just as I was about to scream, “I’m blind, I’m blind!” I realised that, thankfully, it was none of the above.  It was, in fact, my hair smothering my entire face.

Granted, it hasn’t been cut for a while but I have what could be considered ‘mad’ hair – I always have had.  In fact, the only nickname I remember having at school was “Hair Bear,” after the cartoon, ‘The Hair Bear Bunch.’  It sounds funny now, but being a somewhat sensitive tween, it got right on my nerves.  So, of course, they said it even more.

My hair is naturally thick and wavy and yes, I know I’m lucky to be blessed with so much hair but sometimes I just wish there wasn’t so much of it!  I went to bed last night with damp hair, a critical mistake and I really should know better, and now I’ve woken up looking like Cousin It.

On the plus side, I’ve been able to experiment with plenty of hairstyles through the ages – the good, the bad and the downright embarrassing.  As a child living in the 80’s, hair was huge, literally, so I fit right in.  I gave Jon Bon Jovi a run for his money but, just like a lot of women, I was never happy.  Sometimes, I just wanted a sleek, shiny bob.  I wanted to be the woman in the Harmony Hairspray advert whose wavy hair gently bounced as she walked and everyone stopped to ask, “Is she or isn’t she?”  (I so wasn’t, whatever it was.)  Instead, my hair was one solid mass (I got through a can of Ellnett every day) and people just stared at just how damned big it was.

My hair was visible by satellite.

A natural blonde, I’ve now been a redhead for several years and I think it suits the me I am now.  When I was 14, I had a very short, bleached blonde bob with a V-shape shaved into the back of my head, which I then dyed burgundy – so anything after that looks good.

The fact is, I just don’t have time to tame it.   Some days, I barely have time to put it in a ponytail, let alone sit down for an hour with the straightening irons, and so for now, until I can afford my own personal hair stylist, I’m just gonna go with the flow.  Let my hair just do its own thing.

I’m going to embrace my lion’s mane – watch me roar!

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Published by Kate Sutton

Writer, Mother, Dater.