Hair

​Hair. Mine. I’ve had it long, short, permed and now dyed. Mostly dyed. I can’t believe how much I have to get it dyed to keep the illusion of youth. I warned my husband never to complain unless he wanted to be married to someone who looked old enough to be his mother. Did I just confess to that?
 
When I was little, my mother would tell me stories so I would sit long enough to have my hair braided or combed into pigtails or a ponytail. Anything to tame that scraggy mess. But I was a stubborn one and  there was many a time I refused to have my hair contained. My poor mother.
 
I have never liked my hair styles or how my hair would take shape. Some women have the beauty thing down- I never did. The only thing nice about my hair is that is that I have a lot of it. I mean A LOT. Two bowls of hair dye kind of a lot. I will never be an old lady with thin, cotton candy hair. No, I will still be getting it thinned at eighty. Probably having it dyed then as well. 

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