I've come to believe there are two types of overweight people. Those who are confident and sexy no matter what size they are.  And those who would shower fully-clothed if they could.  I am the latter.  In college, I had a small group of girlfriends who would converge at our friend Deb's house a few times a week to study, eat little chocolate schoolboys (AKA Le Petit Ecolier cookies) and drink Dr. Brown's diet cream soda.  Deb was a non-traditional student in every sense of the word, with fiery red hair and a feisty personality to match, who made her millions as a killer businesswomen and then decided to pursue her true love...art.    

Occasionally, we would head out to the hot tub to relax and talk under the Fort Worth stars.  If you brought a suit, great.  If not, it meant birthday for you.  Well, I was always the last one in.  Even though it was pitch dark, I made everyone turn around.  I, of course, had the biggest bath towel...and it stayed with me until the last possible second.  I want to send a shout out to that bath towel now...

"BT, wherever you are, thanks for staying with me and always being close by just in case.  I heart you."

Then there was Deb.  A zaftig beauty, Deb had no problem hosting our shindigs in the nude.  "You need a refresher on your beverage?  I'll get it!"  And out went Deb, sans bath towel.  Up the stairs into the house.  I don't even think she had shades on the back part of her house, so we could see her go from room to room, turning on lights, getting the ice, pouring the Dr. Brown's.  All in the skin that brung her.  God love ya', Deb.  I aspire.

Here comes the but.  But no matter how bad it's gotten, no matter what the scale or my wardrobe has to say...even when I have the worst case of whatsthepointitis and don't want to get out of bed.  I ALWAYS do my hair. Every day starts like this: 1. Shampoo  2. Condition  3. Blow dry each and every section whilst round brushing for fullest effect 4. And sometimes I break out the hot rollers, hoping I can attain the same height with them out as with them in (it never happens).

My love for hair began in the womb.  My mom prayed for good hair and strong feet (worried I would inherit her narrow tootsies).  Well, I was blessed with thick hair and I could start a car with my Fred Flinstone feet.   

Then there was the matter of my beloved grandmother and childhood confidant, Fluffie (rhymes with roofie but I'm pretty sure she never slipped one into anyone's drink).  When she wasn't chasing me around the house with a yard stick (that hung from a crocheted sheath on the wall, I'm not kidding), she would brush my hair. Sometimes for an hour.  It was one of my favorite things.

And finally, being from West Texas...well, let's just say big hair is a way of life for me.  

So let's just take a quick walk down memory lane.  

Exhibit A: 3rd Grade.  How I wish that hair color came in a bottle.  

Exhibit B: 9th Grade.  The 80's called.  It wants its frosted lipstick and herringbone chain back.  

 

And finally...Exhibit C: My senior picture.  

Caruso steam rollers (I'll never forget you).  And the year of my first kiss (or you either). 

Next time, I'll show you the WORST picture ever taken of me...at hair appointment numero uno.  And introduce you to John.  Stay tuned.  

Comments

[Maria@hair cut]

I cant wait for the next episode. your hair seemed very nice to look at. I just hope the next pictures would also be nice. and if there would be any other problem i hope john has solve it.