Wednesday, December 20, 2006

I am not bringing sexy back.

There is a reason that I haven't gotten my hair styled at a salon for an event since 1994. The reason is hairspray. I was a sophmore, going to prom with a junior. I went to get my hair done with 2 other friends. My stylist put curlers in my hair, took them out, and my hair looked amazing. To my horror, she then took a brush and brushed my hair out into some God awful bouffont and proceeded to "lock in" the bouffont with probably a can of hair spray. Tramatic, I know. When I got home, I'm sure there were tears and I had to redo my hair myself.

With the chance of me being driven straight into the need for therapy, I made a hair appointment for last Saturday. I decided to get my hair styled for my firm's holiday party. Heather, the stylist (who will later rob me of my sanity), and me, the victim, discuss how I want my hair styled. She begins blow drying my hair with a big round brush. She then says that my hair isn't cooperating. Guess what she reaches for?! Oh yes! Devil in a can... Hairspray! As she is taking each section of my hair into the round brush to blow dry it, she sprays hairspray underneath each section of hair.

When she finished, it didn't look that bad. I just had really big hair. But apparently she had some type of animosity toward my hair because it wasn't cooperating with her earlier. She says, "Your hair is not going to move. I don't want it to fall" I'm thinking, "Noooooooo!" Cue the hairspray. Half a can. In my hair. So much in fact, my head had an atmosphere for a good 5 minutes after she was done. I was a walking flammable object. Here comes my favorite part. When the stylist asks "so... how do you like your hair?"

Went home, brushed it out, curled it... Voila! Beautiful.

Malik and I arrived at the party. He was looking very handsome in his suit and tie. I, with my big hair, looked pretty snazzy myself. It was quite crowded when we arrived and it was a little hot amongst all the people. As I was mingling, trying to make conversation, while worrying about where Malik was, if he was stuck talking to someone he didn't know, and it was getting hotter & hotter.... I was not bringing sexy back. I was bringing sweaty back. But, alas, my hair did not falter.

5 comments:

Jesse Osbourne said...

i wish my hair had an atmosphere.

oh. do i ever.

Beth said...

Where are th pictures, I NEED pictures!

Ikes said...

Before you take it to the Bridge you should probably...

Take it to the shower!

MissIker said...

Thanks Timberland.

lethes said...

i want pictures too. reading this post was like reading a book without pictures -- i kept searching hoping i'd find one because i so desperately wanted to see the sight that was described.