Hair Envy.

I wouldn’t say I have the worst hair in the world. 

No, because there’s that woman who works at WalMart who has twelve hairs on her head and a full beard on her face. I know you’ve seen her.

She makes me feel better about myself.

But my hair, while not that bad, is hard to deal with.

In fact, I was telling my mom about this blog post this morning and she reminded me of how as a child, my hair was THE WORST of her three daughters, and how hard it was to fix, and to cut, because it was like plastic Barbie doll hair. I had to have store- bought hair cuts, while she could cut the others’ at home, because they had decent hair that could be cut in a straight line.

I’m sensing a home hair cut gone awry judging by those bangs.

I know exactly what she means because Annie has that same slick plastic-y hair that slips and slides around (compounded by half a dozen cowlicks) that makes it pretty dang impossible to style or to be constrained by a ponytail holder. I’m sorry, Annie; it will be better 30 years from now, but you’ll have to pay good money for it… ask me how I know.

And then mom told me about that time when I was three and pilfered a pair of scissors and cut my own bangs — diagonally, which made her JUST SICK. I am quite sure that it did, because I know how slowly my hair grows and how excruciatingly looooong it takes to overcome a bad hair cut. 

But that wasn’t the last time I cut my own hair. From 1984 to 1987 I thought the more bangs you have, the better. If your hair looks like a flock of seagulls, then job well done. Mullet, I believe, is the official name for this disaster.

Yeah, I did that myself. I mean, I had watched my hair being cut many times, and it didn’t look that hard. I distinctly remember making one cut, then I had to even it up, and make another one, even it up, and so on, until I had bangs clear to the back of my head. Heaven help. 


Things got better in high school with the invention of the spiral perm. 

This was our church directory picture, circa 1989. I remember my dad taking one look at this picture and with a huge sigh, saying he couldn’t wait until hair styles changed. I was shocked, because, I mean, truly, was there ANYTHING more BEAUTIFUL than a spiral perm?!!

Hot rollers…. staple of high school hair.

For senior prom, I rolled, teased, sprayed, teased, sprayed, teased. Oh, it was gorgeous. It could have withstood gale force winds.

Isn’t it weird how my date was headless?!

Hair continued to get bigger, but sadly, this was the best I could do. This was my senior picture…

What… you think THAT’S big?! Oh no, honey… with my extra fine blonde hair, I never could get more than an inch or two of height, and that was with six hair products and half a can of hairspray, holding the sides out while I dried the hair spray with a hairdryer.

My sister, with her good hair, had me beat by a mile…

Sorry Betsy. I had to.

Then there were these girls, from the back of my yearbook. The pinnacle of hair excellence, right here. THIS explains massive inferiority complex in high school, because I could never, ever compete with these girls and their hair…. (and I’m still jealous).

In my college days came the ‘grunge’ thing… you know, flannel shirts. I wore flannel shirts and hiking boots to go out. THAT was ‘dressed up.’ It seems so strange now. And suddenly straight hair was acceptable again.



After college I thought my long hair made me look really young {it did} and I wanted to be  treated like a grown-up instead of a kid. I wanted to look like a business woman {Romy & Michelle, ahem}. I cut my hair. I wore pumps and bought suits from Casual Corner. I still got treated like a kid. 

1996. My ‘grown-up’ look.

My hair got shorter and shorter. At the time, I thought I looked good. Then I look back at pictures and snicker at myself… 

My hair looks like a stiff, sprayed-up football helmet.

The ‘Meg Ryan’ look.

What is this?! I look like a bottle brush!

shorter still….

At a formal event in Hawaii.

As it turns out, ‘close to your head’ means ‘one-quarter of an inch long.’ I left in tears.

The haircut was phenomenal — never before or since have I gotten that many compliments on my  hair — but it wasn’t me. I’m traditional, dangit. I like long hair on women. And skirts. And cooking in an apron and staying home with the children.

It took years for that stuff to grow out. YEARS. And it’s not as long as I want it to be now, but it’s getting there. Thank goodness for those prenatal vitamins…

My dream hair? Voluminous waves like these. Long, flowing voluminous waves like these… 

(I can dream, can’t I?)

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