The very first year I taught school was just after David and I were married. At the time, I wasn’t sure I was going to keep my maiden name, although David encouraged me to, as a) my first and last name go very well together, and b) his last name is very common and mine is not. (Note: 99% of my readers know my last name and David’s, but in my “raised as the child of an FBI agent” paranoia, we’ll stay on a first-names-only basis here at the blog, for now.)
Just to try it out, I decided to have my first and second graders call me by his last name, so that I could see how I felt about it without actually having to change it. So I was stuck going by “Mrs. T.” all year, though I knew in the first week that I was not going to change it. It just didn’t feel like me, and if my husband didn’t want me to, then there was nobody advocating for the change!
Just before the end of that school year, I got my hair permed. Now, I had straight hair my whole life, just like Quinland’s. (Okay, not just like hers, which is as thick as Zumu’s, the lucky child.) Not until pregnancy hormones did a number on it did my hair curl. I am not at all fond of my hair curly, either. In fact, when I asked for that particular perm, my hairdresser refused to do it, on the grounds that I had made her promise not to give in to me if I were to have such a lapse in judgement. I had to explain to her that I knew it was going to look bad and that I was going to be unhappy with it, but that I wanted it done anyway, as I was getting ready to go to Europe for a year and wanted easy-care hair.
To make a long story short, she permed it, I hated it, and my second graders were completely freaked out. “You look like Curly Sue,” one said. “No, she’s Curly T.,” said another. That is how I always think of myself now with my curly hair: Curly T.
Why are you hearing about this now? Well, did you ever see the Friends episode when Monica’s hair gets big and bushy because of the humidity in Barbados? I don’t know what the humidity is here in Lisbon, by my hair is completely unmanageable. It doesn’t matter what I do with it, within 10 minutes it is completely frizzed out. Ack. Easy-care hair it is not.
Tonight, on the Metro on the way to Game Night, I asked Quinland if it looked presentable. She stared at it, tried to put it behind my ears, tried to flatten it down with her hands, then looked me in the eye and said, “There’s no hope.”
All advice will be considered and attempted, if possible. I don’t have enough hair to try Monica’s cornrows, though they looked fun to swing around.
- I’m grateful! to the kind young man who played the last few games with us tonight, and to all the Portuguese gamers who made us feel so welcome.
- I’m lighter! I finally got a massage yesterday. I feel sooo much better.