When I was a small child, I had the prettiest curly, brown locks of hair. My hair went down to my butt, and my parents helped keep it pretty by brushing my hair for me every day.
I was ADORABLE, but then one fateful day… my world changed for the worse!
I was around 4 or 5 when I went to go play outside with my friends across the street. We had just gotten home from church, I had lunch or a nap or something to pass the time, and the only reason I know this is because I was wearing a dress and dresses were for church, the rest of the time my mother dressed me as a peasant because as adorable as I was as a kid, I was a savage when it came to clothing. (the worst were the leggings with the elastic around the bottom of your foot… WHAT WAS THAT, MOM!??!)
I was wearing a floral dress, and I really wanted to go play at my friends house. I went to leave through the garage to walk to the friend’s yard when I stepped in something sticky. I looked down and saw the driveway was a black puddle taking my feet away from me, and I had to get out of there immediately.
What I didn’t know as a child was that driveways needed to be sealed and resealed. My father had put sealant on the driveway after church and I was not suppose to leave without my parents, but I was four and could open the door myself!
So there I was, standing in the sealant, watching this black goo consume my feet. I panicked like any normal child would do and tried to go in to a sprint… my body went forward but my feet did not… I fell right on my face and my hair quickly became one with the sealant. I was almost the literal version of Brer Rabbit and the Tar Baby. The more I struggled the worse it became. The sealant was on my face, in my hair, and all over my dress. I finally started to scream and cry.
My mother flew out the door and called for my dad to come help, who (if you have read any of my other family posts you will now see a common theme) LAUGHED AT ME. My mother was just as upset at I was, I think. I ruined the dress, my hair, my complexion… I was hideous and I knew it! My mother bathed me until my skin was pink everywhere, but my hair… my hair was a lost cause. There was no saving those luscious locks.
It would get much worse, because, you see, I grew up in the 90’s, and what haircut was all the rage???
THE FREAKING BOWL CUT. The lady at the hair place put a freaking bowl on my head, shaved up to it, and then cut. This cut would be the cut that would cause me to cry every time I get my haircut. Now only two people can cut my hair, me and Jen from down the road! OTHERWISE STAY AWAY FROM MY HEAD. I seriously get panic attacks whenever someone else cuts my hair to this day because of that instance. I don’t know what I am going to do if Jen or I leave the area… I do not want to think about it.
Moral of the story: Leashes for kids. My hair would have been beautiful if my parents kept me on a leash.