So I broke a couple of teeth out of my brush getting the tangles out of my hair yesterday. My hair excels at snarling and I excel at snarling while removing snarls. But then I remembered: it could be worse.
I offer this snapshot from Thanksgiving 1984 for everyone’s amusement. My hairdo, as I recall, required a perm to allow my hair to hold any curl at all, a blow-dryer, a curling iron, multiple products and special brushes, and a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth. And the result, obviously, was not worth the trouble.
(Grandma Marian, next to me, at that point had been wearing her hair that way for at least 20 years and would for the rest of her life. Some people find a good style and stick with it. My brother’s hair is now long, which seems to suit him. My mom has been wearing different variations of the same hair since she went blonde, much to my shock, when I was somewhere between five and ten.)
I like my current ponytail much better after having reminded myself of one of the alternatives. And next time I have my photo snapped, I plan to sit up straight.