Hair Rules

Hair Rules

Women do crazy things with their hair. Some of us color it. Some of us highlight. When I was growing up, the rule was that after the age of 30, you need to cut your hair.

I've seen 30. I've seen 40. My hair is still hitting my shoulders and collar bones. A ponytail and a baseball cap is my favorite style. Preferably a cap with an expression I love or one that reminds me a trip.

Fifteen years or so ago, I thought short hair would be easier and cuter. (Plus, I thought Princess Diana was gorgeous with her short and sporty 'do.) So, I cut it off. All Off! I showed up to meet the husband for a dinner and his first question was, "Where is your hair?" My answer went something like, "Well, I imagine it's in a Hefty bag by now." He was not amused.

No one tells you that with certain hair types, especially wild, frizzy, somewhat curly like mine, short hair is your worst nightmare. You have to style it every day. Otherwise, someone (like my Uncle Harry) will follow you around saying, "Comb your hair!" You have to have a jillion utensils.

Long hair is simple. Blow out the bangs and throw a couple of hot rollers in. Or, put it in a ponytail or twist it up.

When I was in high school and college, we did not have blow dryers or hot rollers. These are two of the greatest inventions in my lifetime. Also, no one put products in their hair. You took a shower; you washed your hair. Life was simple but hair routines were not.

In high school, I used humongous orange juice cans. I made a Pebble's-like ponytail on my head and wrapped my hair around in an attempt to smooth it out. In college, I used the same principle but I found rollers of the same dimension. I had one of those hair dryers that was a bonnet around your head and attached to a control unit. I carried my little hair unit to the lounge to study. If I was sitting near a window and people would come back from the library, they would shout, "Hi Sheri!" I had no vanity. Unfortunately, I still don't.

The mother-in-law goes to the beauty parlor. They wash, trim and curl. Then they tease it into a helmet. She doesn't mess with color. She doesn't believe me but it looks much better when she does it at home and lets it air dry. She achieves that sporty 'do I was going for many years ago.

I have never been good with the hair rules. But I am getting a little frustrated with the dollars flying out for hair care. Maybe I'll let the gray grow in, the highlights fade and the kinkiness flourish.

Probably not. Guess there's a little vanity floating in there after all.