A Case of the Frizzies

If you're on the East Coast, then most likely you are experiencing what I am at this moment. Frizzy hair. This tropical depression, dumping multiple inches of rain into our septic system, is making it necessary for me to hide out under a baseball cap. Barring that, a paper bag will have to do.

Bad hair weather sucks. Especially when I'm badly in need of a cut and a lot of color. The mousy brown is back highlighted with many non-blonde strands of silver. Or gray. Depending on my mood. I need a couple of hours in the chair, the scent of peroxide wafting over me, followed by a thorough blowout so that I'll have straight hair for a day.

The first time I ever had a blowout, about a year and a half ago, I was giddy with awe as I viewed my glamourous straight blonde hair. Why had I never done this before?

It's so short-lived that smooth-haired excitement.

I am contemplating waiting out the rain in a salon chair today. It seems the only logical thing to do. Nothing can disguise the fact that my head is a mess. Not makeup. Not jewelry. Not turtlenecks. Not even flossing my teeth seems to hide the fact that the pourous strands of protein floating around my head were once hair.

Or were they?

I'm also feeling as if an alien baby is trying to break out of my mid-section so it's possible that my judgement is impaired.

But that's what coffee is for, right?