All This to Say One Thing

I'm in hair therapy.  

I just want to get that out there.

Let me explain.  My hair is somewhat of the curly nature.  Well actually, somewhat might be an understatement.  It is curly.  

It used to be really really ridiculously curly.  I once made my forever friend named Danae scream.  Loudly.  In shock.  She was standing on a chair in the kitchen of our college apartment trying to reach something in the cupboard.  She's of the short nature so finding her standing on a chair wasn't odd.  What was odd was her reaction to me drying my hair without putting any product in.  She screamed.  I walked into the kitchen looking like a lion.  My hair was huge and frizzy and huge and frizzy.  

Fast forward a couple years.  Enter the straightener in my life.  

I ironed my hair every day.  Little layer by little layer.  When I first started straightening the lion beast, it took about two hours.  Then something magical started to happen.  

My hair changed.  

It became easier to straighten and slightly more manageable.  

What I know now is I was fooled.  Like a boy who makes you think he is out with friends fooled.  My hair didn't actually change.  What happened was it became so over ironed, it forgot it was even hair.   

Fast forward a couple more years.  A couple more years of total havoc to the hair every morning.  Steam rising can not be a good sign.  I should have paid attention.  And every morning, my hair forget itself a little more.  It lost its hair way.   

Then, let me tell you what started happening this past fall.  My ends up and died.  For real.  And then their death started creeping up and creeping up until pretty soon the entire bottom half of my hair attended its own funeral. 

Ugly.  It got ugly.  

And no longer would it naturally curl.  It would curl up by scalp where the hair was not dead.  But then it was this flat fried mess of yuck deadness.   

So I did what any girl would do in my situation.  

I first acknowledged the problem.

Because we all know, that is always step one.   

And then I entered hair therapy.  

My stylist who I love more than white Christmas lights also noticed the death of my hair the past few times I've been in her chair.  She's been brainstorming and I've been brainstorming and neither one of us knew we were both concerned about the death of my hair.  I sat in her chair a few Saturdays ago and proclaimed it was time for some serious hair therapy.  She agreed and told me she had a plan.  Oh how I love a plan.  She did a little treatment to strip it and proceeded to cut the dead off and loaded me up with products to bring it back to life.   

All this leads me to tell you one thing.  Don't you love how I can get to a point real quick like?  The point is this.  I am embracing my curls again.  Because goodness, a girl can not be walking around with dead hair.  It just isn't right.  

Let me tell you the most interesting part of my hair therapy.  

I use a kabob making wood skewer while it's air drying.  No fingers allowed.  That's the rule from the product and I always follow rules.  Well, actually I don't but that's a story for another day.  Anyway, the stylist I love more than white Christmas lights told me to use chopsticks to lift the roots.  But I do not have chopsticks.  I did have a bag of wood skewers from kabob making escapades this summer so that is what I use.  It works.  As long as I remember to not use the pointy end.  I made that mistake one time.  I'm a quick learner.  Most of the time.

For right now, I have to add in a wee bit of curl to the top layer because that hair has not completely had its therapy "ah-ha" moment.  It's still holding onto some deep seated flat iron resentment.  The under layers though...oh, the under layers.  They found their groove.  I'm hoping with the loss of the flat iron, the curls will eventually come all the way back.  Back to the days of the lion beast.  

I want to see just how big it will get and maybe make people scream while they are standing on chairs.