Hair is a funny thing. It is always changing. An example that we are all familiar with is Casey’s hair, which was thin and straight until the age of seven when it suddenly exploded into a thick, unruly mane of curls. Taming it became a constant source of aggravation and expense for her. She chemically straightened it for years until she finally surrendered and learned how to manage the curls.
My change in texture from straight to wavy did not occur until after my child-bearing years. Could it be a result of all those years of coloring it, which began before my thirtieth birthday after enough gray hairs appeared that I finally decided to let Miss Clairol help me hide those gray strands of wisdom? Now I have a regular appointment every four weeks, because I am just not ready to submit to a full head of gray.
What I discovered today, while turning the pages of my baby book, was an envelope labeled “Karen’s first haircut—not counting bangs.” It was dated three weeks after my second birthday.
You could have knocked me over with a feather when I learned that I did not begin life as a brunette, but instead, I was a blonde! Who knew? I need to have a chat about that with Grandma today. Maybe I should mention that to my hairdresser. How do you think I would look now as a blonde?