Hair Days: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

One day in my high school Spanish class, we were learning about body parts. My teacher, Mrs. Tilley, would give us a hint and we had to guess which body part she was describing. At one point in the game, she said: "Es muy importante por las chicas" which means, "It is very important for girls." Saira, a kind of ditzy girl who sat next to me, tilted her head to the side and said, "Pecho?" (which means chest). The correct answer was not "pecho," but "pelo," which is hair. Although I think both answers would have worked, it's true. Hair is very important for girls.

We straighten it, curl it; we braid it and crimp it; we twist and tease our hair until it looks absolutely perfect....or at least kind of acceptable. And then there are those days when you can't do anything at all with your hair, no matter how hard you try, and you just march around campus feelingggg awful.

I had one of those days last week. I planned my outfit on Tuesday night and carefully picked out a black headband with a cute red and gray plaid flower that would match perfectly. The next day, I woke up and my hair was just out of control. I don't even know what it was doing. After messing around with it for a few minutes, I threw the headband on, placing it really close to my hairline, and hoped for the best.

After my first class that day, I was leaving the Telmage building and caught a glimpse of my reflection in one of the glass doors. I immediately felt the urge to find a razor and shave my head. Somehow, my hair had gotten all messed up and was sticking up in random loops that came sprouting out of my headband. I was horribly embarrassed and only was able to feel okay about this because I had just come from mission prep and wasn't interested in anyone in that class anyway, since they were all premies. Disaster averted.

Or was it? For the rest of the day, I was paranoid, constantly patting my hair and readjusting my headband to make sure it didn't look ridiculous. I would say that my encounter with my own reflection as I was leaving Mission Prep was just the beginning of a string of incidences that, whether actual or just invented by my really mean imagination, created a disaster of a day when pieced all together. I was not truly comfortable until I was home in my own apartment and my headband was far away from my head.

The next day was Thursday, and my entire experience was different. Why? It was because of my hair.

Do you think that sounds dramatic? Well it's not. Just listen.

On Thursday, I agreed to be a model for my friend Kelsey's theater makeup class. As a thank you, all the models were allowed to keep the fake eyelashes that they used on us. After I took off all the other makeup, Kelsey nicely put them back on my eyes and sent me on my merry way. Suddenly, the world was a different place! I was glamorous! I was in such a good mood that I almost stopped by Jamba Juice on my way back to the bus, despite the line. Almost.

(Something you should know about me: I hate waiting in line at Jamba Juice. I can do it anywhere else, so it's not just an issue of my own impatience. I cannot wait in line at Jamba. I don't like it enough to. And it costs a little-lot of money. And I can't justify it. And I only go sometimes when there is literally no one, like not a single soul, even considering getting in line.)

I walked around campus and just blinked happily at everyone. The eyelashes were pretty long, but it didn't even matter that people might be able to tell they were fake. I just felt like the whole entire world was different. It was a little sad to take them off, but I'm over it. Those eyelashes were just what I needed to get over my bad hair day slump from Wednesday.

So take courage, my friends! If you have a bad hair day one day, there is always tomorrow for a good one. And remember, there will always be fake eyelashes to erase the effects* that an unfortunate hair day may have had on your psyche.

*In almost all cases except maybe this one.