Growing up, I knew that long hair meant beauty. I don't know if I should blame it on the Barbies or the Disney princesses, but for as long as I can remember long curly hair made me feel glamorous, and all put together.
When I was little I begged for bangs and curly hair. My stringy straight locks were a handful and spent most of their time in a ponytail, and the cowlick in the middle of my widow's peak on my forehead laughed at any attempt to tame it. No amount of curl would ever stay and even if i slept all night with my hair wrapped in curlers it was straighter than a board the next day.
So I begged and begged, and my mom gave in to the curls. And I ended up with a Jew fro. There are all of two pictures from the stage in my life, and they were taken by my neighbor. Okay Okay you say, think about the situation, my mom was at home with three little ones under the age of five, there was no time for pictures, but it's easier to blame it on the hair.
So after the misadventure I moved on... the perm grew out and my hair went back to straight. I had a bowl cut for awhile and cried and cried after, and then I was over the hair. It stayed in the ponytail. I cut it off in the winters, only to immediately regret it, and life went on. Even though every time I went in to get it cut I thought about the bangs.
Fast forward 15 years to a summer spent far far away with amazing water. At least that is what I'm going to blame it on. I came back with curly hair, ringlets even, if it is humid enough (the one blessing to this god forsaken heat)
So the Barbies and Disney Princesses have been passed over and my dream for luscious curly locks has been achieved. And yet I still have a ways to go. Tonight, after a three mile run I decided I needed a haircut. So I borrowed a pair of scissors from my roommate and trimmed the ends a little, the whole time thinking about how easy it would be to cut the front short into the bangs I've always wanted. I was feeling brave, my hair was looking good, and even the back was cut in a straight line. I combed out the bangs, fought the cowlick, brought the scissors up to my eye line, and thought about the Jew Fro. Bangs just couldn't happen. Not by me anyway and especially if there was any possibility of the outcome looking anything like the last attempt at my dream hair.
And with that the scissors were put away and instead of bangs, I walked away with hair even curlier, with a borderline Farah Faucet cut. Not bad for a first timer...