After my shower and approximately six lather/rinse/repeat cycles later, I stared into the mirror. All alone and with loads of hindsight, the activities of the evening seemed slightly less fun and slightly more foolish. I plopped my hat on my head, which was as greasy as it had been prior to using half a bottle of shampoo.
Maybe the body heat or the hat would leech the petroleum from my hair. Yeah. Sure.
I slept. A dreamless, restless never-want-to-see-daylight-again kind of sleep.
No fairy or angelic visitations in the night. No lovely people from one of those wonderful organizations that clean up oil drenched helpless animals after oceanic oil spills came to my rescue either.
When I woke, I slid the hat from my head and touched it. Songs of self-pity played in my mind as I trudged to the bathroom. “nobody likes me….blah, blah, I guess I’ll go eat worms.”
It didn’t matter that I wasn’t in Jr. High anymore, nope, there was just enough teen spirit in my office to guarantee that all would get a charge out of this.
I scrubbed yet again; three times just on the outside chance, got dressed without looking into a mirror, and headed to work.
I fooled them the first couple of hours. But about ten o’clock co-workers began wondering out loud why my hair still looked dripping wet. I told a few of the more sympathetic ones. Then Shirlee called in and inquired about my hair. The laughter rang through the office.
One of the doctors took pity on me. He Googled Vaseline and hair and came up with a sure-fire cure. Cornstarch. Hope!
At first I was leery. After all, this same doctor was prone to pranking. But I Googled too, and behold, there it was. I rushed home, grabbed the box of cornstarch and ran to the bathroom. Whoosh! Instant powdered wig, hardening into a hairstyle that rivaled any big hair ever to parade across a television screen.
Yes, more tomorrow.
