March 17, 2011

almost dread-locked

Here is my problem.  I have blond, fine, thick hair in a country full of people with black, course, thin hair.  By "thin" I don't mean that their ponytails are as big around as pencils.  Quite the contrary.  Their ponytails are twice as big around as the one that frequently hangs down my own back.  I say "thin" because if you counted the hairs on their heads they would have 1/3 the number of hairs that I have on my head.  Each hair, however, is strong enough to pull someone out of a pit.

Each of my hairs, however, is a delicate wisp of nearly nothingness, hanging onto my head by a gentle root.  Each is desperate for company, too, attempting at every opportunity to intertwine itself with its neighbors.

So...yesterday I went with my dear friend, Kristy, to get my hair washed.  Sounds weird, I know, but you have to understand that getting your hair washed here involves tiny, soft Asian hands massaging soap and warm water into your hair, massaging your scalp, massaging your face, shoulders, arms, wrists, hands, fingers, then styling your hair, all for around 4 dollars.

My particular hair-washer, however, forgot (or never knew) that Caucasian hair is not as durable as the strong, shiny, black manes that bounce around Asia.  While I chit-chatted with Kristy, happy for the break from domestic duties, my hair was scrubbed, rubbed, shimmied, and pummeled like farm pants on a washboard.  When they got around to combing it, we all quickly realized that there was a problem.  My hair was a mess of knotted, gnarled, nests.  I had essentially been given a loose form of dread locks.

I tucked my hair, as is, inside my hat and waited until I got home to evaluate the damage.  The prognosis was grave.  With many, MANY tears and cries for help from all the Heavenly hosts, I realized that my hair was probably a loss and would need to be cut off.

I wept.


Not about to give up that easily, though, I used half a jar of cream rinse and a plastic pick and finally, FINALLY got through my hair.  There was a nice, knotted handful of hair on the edge of the sink when it was all said and done, but I think I managed to salvage most of it.

During the ordeal, Bright said, "Don't worry, Mom.  When I lose my first tooth and put it under my pillow, I'll use the money I get to pay for you to get a nice haircut."  Awwwww.

My husband, though adamantly against bangs, has voiced his support should I ever decide to get dread locks.  I always knew I had the right kind of hair for it, but I never dreamed how right it was.  Perhaps I shall yet decide to take that plunge, but for now, I am thankful I can get a comb through my hair once again.