My dearest child,
I love the way you pad down the steps at exactly 7:00a.m. and hug your hellos in that hazy, croaky voice. I love chatting with you over breakfast when it’s just us. And more than any other part of our morning routine, I love doing your hair.
I love the complex designs you dream up and expect me to weave into your tresses like a counted cross-stitch pattern, minus the actual template. I love the way you thrash your head about, trying to avoid the death rays of the hairdryer. I love the challenge of not ripping your bangs out by the roots while attempting to blowdry them into submission.
I love the accusations you and that diva skull of yours sling at me before the brush even makes contact, all the while not doing the one thing I’ve asked of you. Can’t you scream child-like obscenities while keeping your head straight? And FYI? Those are not tangles. Your hair is barely even wavy. Do you see me crying when you barge into what little privacy I ask for and find me attending to my tangles? No…not Tangled the movie. Yes, I still get a little weepy at the end of that one, but her parents hadn’t seen her in 18 years and—HEY. I don’t have to justify myself to you. But no…I don’t cry at all movies. Just the ones with decent scripts and happy endings, and lest we forget, you cried at the end of E.T., too.
I’ve labored over your locks for nigh over six years. I’ve gone from brush to comb and back at your request. I’ve invested in a cornucopia of fruity deganglers and employed their mist at even the hint of discomfort. I’ve adjusted speed, technique, and duration, thus elevating our venture to a whole new level of “gentle.” I have ornamented you at your behest, practically guaranting you admiration and praise wherever we go as long as other women were present. Doesn’t that buy me some trust? Because no, I’m not trying to rip all of your hair out so that you’ll look like E.T., which isn’t even possible, BTW. Even if I succeeded in this alleged evil, your legs are far too long and your fingers don’t glow. If I wanted you bald I’d just say yes the next time you asked me to chew gum in bed.
©2011 CEK. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.