During which I discuss the state of my hair

specifically its style, or lack thereof, during the summer months. I don’t usually complain about my hair (not that I ever have a shortage of topics to complain about, because honestly, why are turn signals and the proper use of brakes such difficult concepts for some people??) but I’ve been letting it grow for so long that I’m starting to feel as though I have a second person living on top of my head. A hairy person who hates to be brushed, doesn’t think lying flat is fun and enjoys getting caught in bra straps and other various things that open and close, like car windows, kitchen cabinets, mouths and sticky four year old fingers. For the most part, I’m relatively content with the status of my hair and I’ve come to accept its thick, dark, almost carpet-like abundance. But I’ve definitely ignored it this summer, never really letting it out to play and be happy in its natural, curly state of twisty tangles. I’ve kept it locked away from the world as if something were wrong with it. I’ve treated it like some horrible, biblical skin condition that would’ve sent children screaming into their mother’s arms and young men chasing after it into the night, torches in hands. I think I’ve been neglecting it. I never buy it flowers anymore, never ask it how it’s feeling and I’m really starting to question our relationship. Sure it looks lovely in pictures, but the reality is nothing short of a sweaty, confusing mess that clings to the back of my neck on sunny days like a starving leech and expands like an anxious blowfish on the humid ones.

And since I had seven different places to be on any given day this summer, I gave up all hopes of pretty hair, put the flat iron back in the drawer and imposed an 8:00 AM curfew by putting the whole party on lockdown.

I have one in pink, green and red. I always color coordinated with according lip gloss and I even County Girl’d it up a few times with a baseball cap when I was feeling especially nutty (I even added a mouth full of Bubble Yum when I wanted to capture that “bratty 15 year old potato picker” look. Except my hands never smelled like rotten potatoes and I always wore cute shorts and adorable shoes this summer. I draw the line somewhere people.)

To add insult to my already injured mop, I’ve decided to grow the FABULOUS Jessica Alba bangs out to long length for Autumn so I can, you know, keep it fresh and interesting. Like you never know what I’m gonna do next. Boo!

So under the bandana or baseball cap, there are these angry things just waiting for you to reach up and touch them. They’ll bite your finger clean off.

In short I’ve forgotten how to make my hair look cute and even if I wanted to I can’t because I have angry bangs growing off the top of my head and they’re currently experiencing puberty and are just looking to start a fight.