My Dear Hair:
Have I told you recently how much I love you? I don’t know if I’ve told you how I adore your creativity. I so appreciate the way that you choose to have a mind of your own. If only some of that intelligence could be absorbed back into the roots, past my skull and into my brain. Instead of matching clothes and remembering simple, logical grammar rules, I would be entirely like you. Flippant, boyouant yet flat, oily yesterday, full of dried out static tomorrow. I would wear mismatched clothes to go naturally with your “half curling in, half flipping out.”
My dear brown locks, I admire your confidence, your defiance of the hair bush, blow dryer, straightener and redken. How you keep up your energy to keep up the fight–I really don’t know! If I could persevere in my job search, the way you do in your insistence to go against my hands, I’d have been hired before graduation. Will you ever be submissive? Will the bangs ever keep together? Will you always have an uncomfortably bright streak of blonde amidst the brown?
How I love you.
But somedays, I wish I had the tools, the wits, the patience and the energy to wrestle you into following orders.