Hair. What is it about hair that surrounds us from the time we wake up, until we push that last lock of hair from our face before falling asleep? It’s the crowning glory of queens in times gone by, it’s flowing tresses moving in slow motion from one side of a beautiful model’s face to the other. Innocent bystanders look on as a perpetual pendulum swings between jealousy and cocky confidence that “my hair is just as good!” Hair! That all over stuff that grows out heads, but sometimes not. It coils in defiant curls that refuse to be put under the iron and tortured into straight. On the flip side of the coin called head, it’s the crying, pleading, begging for curls that will last longer than the first drop of rain that lands kerplop on straight hair. Before feeling sorry for the curly do’s or the straighter than straight heads, think about those with no hair at all. Or do they have hair?
We’ve all seen them, the bald man with not a shred of hair evidence to be held under a microscope for DNA purposes who can sprout an amazing beard. The graying, monk tonsured man with only his glasses sitting on top of his head, yet black eyebrows hover like a thick caterpillar with no place to go. And excuse me while I blush for a moment, but why in the world does pubic hair sport a bright and energetic red when the rest of the body reveals a dull gray? I’m curious about all this and sometimes wake in the night wondering how Mother Nature in her infinite wisdom could play such tricks on lowly human beings.
While I’m on the subject of hair I want to know why all this occurs. Is it purely happenstance? I’ve also decided that this thing called male pattern baldness is baloney! Sure, as women, our hips our wide enough to carry the burden of blame for our sons lack of thatch on the head, BUT should the blame be put at our feet? I’m sure I’ve seen men with bald fathers become bald in the very same pattern. So much for blaming girlie genetics.
When all else seems to be falling, failing, or disappearing why do we find hair where it never made an appearance before? Like inside ears. Hair does not belong inside ears poking out like white antennae ready to stab anyone who comes too close. Nose hair on elderly gentlemen can cause a great tizzy among the young and the PCH (politically correct hairy). SomethingÃ¢Â?Â¦ somewhere along the long line went askew. I don’t think the forces, powers that be, God, Buddha or anyone really planned for the human race to be subjected to the daily rigors of keeping hair where it should be or where it shouldn’t be. There’s got to be a better way!
We’re never happy. Hair is too long, too short, too spiky, too smooth, too light, not light enough, too dark, not dark enough, layered, not layered, shaved, colored, frizzed, fried, curled, dried, straightened, ironed, dyed, peroxided, sheared, razored, buzzed, blended, highlighted, stuck in rollers, papers, sponges, aluminum foil and wrapped in plastic. And folks, that’s just the tortures for the hair on top.
The rest of the body withstands an onslaught of depilatories that consist of creams, sugars, honey, and wax that sounds like a dessert on the calf. Then we move on to the truly wicked procedures. Brazilian waxes subject our most private parts to a wild wax wielding woman who’s going to do what??? Catching a breath we move upward to those two lovely arching lines that frame the eyes with expression. They didn’t just get to be the force of coquettish flirtation seen by admirers on their own. Getting those brows in shape takes stamina and a steady hand to pluck out stray hairs and create the perfect arch at the perfect spot just above the green eyes that water below. Soon the nose will start running and then just as the hair is captured between two prongs, a sneeze let’s loose and instead of plucking out one hair, a whole bevy of hairs are now clasped in the torture device called tweezers.
And yet for all our OCD behaviors when it comes to hair, there’s nothing like watching the man you love push his hair back from his face with a boyish grin that tugs at your heart. After a really horrific day, week, month, yearÃ¢Â?Â¦ getting a new ‘do is like having a breath of life giving air pumped into a deflated ego. We save curls and locks of hair from children that grow into mature men and women. We covet pictures of the days when we had hair or we didn’t have hair where it shouldn’t be. We smile at the little towhead boy with front teeth missing. We touch a downy head with feathery fingertips and believe in miracles once again. As a veil is lifted, a hand lingers to caress a curl. We may get carried away from time to time about hair, but in the end it’s the emotions it brings forth. Maybe it is well worth all the fussÃ¢Â?Â¦ nah I don’t think so.