I do realize that this is nothing new to many women, maybe even to many men. But it is to me. Sometimes, I even forget to look in the mirror before I head out because first, of course, I have to help The Tactless Child button her dress. Also, I have to pull The One Who Spits from under the car, where he likes to hide. Who will remember to glance at a mirror after all that?
So when the Hub and I were momentarily free yesterday, we headed to the mall and got our fixes – he fueled his testosterone with 3D glasses and Jar Jar Binks at the cinema and I headed to the salon to get my hair relaxed. To the unaware, with whom I belonged two days ago, getting hair relaxed means taming wild wavy strands (like mine) with
chemicals slapped on the hair. The girl at the front desk told me the
process would take about 2 hours. I was hesitant at first because that
seemed like a lifetime to me, but this hesitation was overshadowed by
my early (and shallow) dream of becoming breathtakingly beautiful. No better time to take breaths away than Valentine season. haha.
So within minutes I had an ottoman under my feet, a pile of magazines on a sidetable, and the stylist’s assistant hovering over me.
He had a pot of some chemicals in cream form, and the smell was beyond offensive. He explained that he was going to smear all that on my hair and let it stand for 20 minutes. I would have thrown up if I were young and immature – the chemicals smelled like they were fished from inside a filled-to-the-brim toilet bowl. But I stayed strong and went on zen mode.
After applying the goop on my hair, my guy wrapped my hair in cling wrap then stalked away. I felt like leftover lunch. I passed the time reading magazines and feeling rich with all the free time I had. I do love taking care of The Tactless Child and The One Who Spits. But sometimes, when someone else is looking after them for me, I get this momentary surreal feeling of not knowing what to do with myself. That, above all else, is what pushes me to find some “meaningful” work and
me-time. So I never catch myself staring at a wall.
Rinsing off the goop was the best part of the process for me. I love having someone shampoo my hair and massage my head. Heaven!
Unfortunately, wetting hair means drying it afterward. And I have thick hair. (Not the missing link, but close.) It took an hour, sincerely, and a couple of blow-driers whirring at the same time to
dry my mop. Gosh, it did feel good knowing that my two stylists were putting their skills to use to make me look nice. After that, they put another kind of goop on my hair. This one had a less offensive
smell, maybe only up to the caliber of a men’s locker room after a good game.
After another round of blowers (don’t know how else to put it), I was done and ready for my date with The Hub! I probably didn’t look breathtaking, but that’s alright. I don’t need to take breaths away anymore. Having nice, toilet-smelling hair is good enough for me.