Friday, June 03, 2005

Hair We Go Again...

After my sobbing session in the kitchen yesterday at work, one of the first things I did when I returned to the front desk....was ring my hairdresser and get an appointment with her for this morning. She was able to accommodate, YES! There's nothing like sitting back in a chair and having someone playing with your hair, when you need to wind down right? Or more importantly, when you're feeling in a draggy kinda mood and need the extra lift, getting a girl's hair done is right up there with chocolate consumption and the love of a good Canadian man, to make her feel better. And what about that head massage when the conditioner goes on?? "Oh oh OOOOOOOH! That feels sooooo good....right there, yeah right there...oh God, that's perfect...yeeeeaaah".

So, that's where I've been this morning. She chomped more out of my thick mass, talked about how fast my hair grows and "Look at how bloody thick it still is!" after she'd peeled out her thinning scissors to cut back on bulk and growth. This is after she's plastered my roots with dye, so it matches the rest of my mane. As I mentioned a couple of days ago, I've been blessed with strong healthy teeth. These teeth of mine come to me care of my father's pacific island genes. Thank you Dad. Now we come to the downside of my Dad's ancestry for me....although I'm grateful my teeth are strongly hair suffers. Why?... I'm glad you asked...because my father's hair is white...not grey...but WHITE. Like..."My eyes, MY EYES!" kinda white. This can be a common thing with pacific islanders and their hair...either you can get jet black hair...and it stays that way until you're 103 or however long it takes for the big bongo drumming oofa loofas in the heavens to take you. can go prematurely grey/white.

I know you're all fascinated to read I'll continue. From the time I reached the ripe age of about 24, I got thrown head first into the great swimming gene pool of white hairedness. So for God only knows how long, I've been doing my damndest to avoid it. This means I truck along to my hairdresser regularly for her to deal with my roots. Lucky for me, I have a 15 year old that takes pity on his mother (that's when she's not pissing him off in some shape or form), and will patiently give me the occasional 'home job' to save some bling bling. He will huff and puff about it, but eventually sees the merits in him scratching my back, which in turn can result in me scratching his.

He was sitting in the lounge the other day and I walked past him. I froze....OMG! There it was...shining like a beacon in a sea of dark hair....flaunting itself..."neener, neener NEEEEEENER!" lone white hair...swaying in the breeze of my gasp. My poor baby's always been older than his years, but this? THIS??! Damnit Dad, I sure do love you to pieces, but you're pushing the outta limits of grandfatherly bonding now *sigh*.
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