“It’s as if she assumes everything will go right, and when it doesn’t – which, of course, is pretty often – she is surprised and affronted.”
― Christina Baker Kline
My flat-iron weighed in this morning.
Even though NO ONE asked its opinion, apparently it agrees with my decision to stop chemically straightening my hair.
I was born with naturally frizzy, wavy hair and as of this morning it thinks I should just make peace with it already!
Did I mention that although it has had to take on the almost Herculean task single-handedly, without the assistance of caustic chemicals, it doesn’t get a vote?
Anyway, in a blatant act of jackassery it decided to run cold. Ice cold. Half way through doing my hair.
Really? It wore out?
Airplanes fly, full of people and shit, day in and day out, back and forth and around the world for ten or twenty years. They don’t even get to take a breath.
The very thing; the only task it was born to do was to heat up and deliver to me stick straight hair.
I never asked it for shine or a softer texture. That would have been over reaching. It would have seemed ungrateful.
Nope, I only needed it to heat up to a surface temperature hot enough to grill a Panini, and thus straighten my hair—and as of this morning it could do neither. Fuck it.
Time of death: 08:25
First appearance of freaky looking helicopter hair: 08:26
What do you do when something or someone can’t live up to their promise?
I get MAD.
I want to throw things…and scream. I want to smash glass, stomp my feet, and let loose a long string of obscenities…then MAYBE, after I’m worn out—I negotiate.
That’s the time I initiate an uneasy détente.
That’s the place where there is pleading, cajoling, mixed with prayers and promises— and that’s just me.
“Please, if you just finish my hair, I’ll…I’ll…cure world hunger.”
Then invariably the talks break down and I’m frantically pushing buttons and kicking and breaking things again.
Have I mentioned I don’t handle disappointment well? How are you guys with that?
I count on things. I look forward to things.
Like hot water, hot coffee and a hot flat-iron.
I take those things for granted in the morning. Like the sun rise, morning breath, and pooping.
Why can’t they just deliver?
They have one fucking reason for being. To make me seem impossibly fresh, naturally beautiful, happy and ready for the day.
Pivoting. Turning on a dime. Going with the flow.
I like to think I’ve got that process in the bag.
Until the Universe fucks with my fat iron.
Or my coffee maker.
Or my water heater.
Can anyone say Mercury retrograde?
Hey, how’s your Monday?
Carry on (if you see me and my shitty hair today…just keep walking)
Seriously.
xox
