Where's my curling iron?

When I was living in Delaware, Denise cut my hair. I'm not sure when my parents started taking me to her, but it couldn't have been long after we moved from below the Canal to Hockessin when I was five and a half. The place where she worked was literally just a few steps across the state line in Pennsylvania. When she left there to work at a salon in Trolley Square, we (the males in the family) followed her. When I go for visits back east, I always make a stop to see Denise. She's still one of my all-time favorite people.

When I left Delaware for Texas, I became more faithful to the clippers than to a specific hairdresser. I did later find Rhonda in Juneau, however. Like Denise, I followed Rhonda to her new shop. My "3 and 2" haircut isn't difficult. But Rhonda managed to clip my hair without leaving strays. One would think it wouldn't be so hard to spot those missed hairs considering how short I usually keep my hair. But when Rhonda wasn't available, I often found myself pulling the scissors out upon returning home. That's only worsened here in South Dakota, and I've tried hairdressers from Rapid to Sioux Falls.

But I kept my hair longer in my youth. I even had a part. When I was a kid, I would be ready for a haircut before Mom was willing to schedule the appointment with Denise. And since I obviously couldn't drive myself and she controlled the purse strings, I was stuck. My hair is wavy when it grows out. And it flares out in the back à la Carol Brady, just not as severe.

So, to buy a couple more weeks between visits to Denise, Mom would pull out her curling iron and curl the ends under. I'm not sure how this started, whether it was due to my bitching or my parents wanting to save the expense of a haircut for a few more weeks. (Or maybe it was Mom who didn't want me out in public looking like that. Hmmm...) But before school, she'd come down to the basement (where my bedroom was located) armed with the curling iron.

I share this memory because it's now been 15 weeks since my last haircut. Yes, I'm counting, and it's three times longer than my haircut frequency in Juneau. I think it looks... okay. But that depends on how it lays after coming out of the shower, whether I've worn a hat, and my mood. Sometimes, I look in the mirror and think, "Hey, not bad, Bri!" And other times I just look and shake my head at the bird's nest on top of my head, which is an appropriate description considering how dry my hair is, short or long.

There are no hairdressers in Mission, so that's one reason why my hair hasn't been cut lately. But I have to admit my hair's entertainment value has increased exponentially as the weeks have passed. I often find myself running my fingers through it pulling out the knots, just like when I was a kid. And before bed some nights, I head to the bathroom mirror to shape and contort my hair into designs once left only to my imagination. A few more weeks and I'll be ready to join A Flock of Seagulls.