Probably the day I realized that even when bad, bad, bad things occur that they can be humorous was when I inadvertently killed three flies in my hair.
You must know that I am ringed with curls. Perfect corkscrew curls if my hair is short, and at age 12 my hair was short and curly. Of course, I have the Billy Goat Gruff Complex. I ALWAYS desired dark- blue black hair that was not thick and straight as straight can be. I am a serial dreamer and for years (going on 10) I would at least once a week dream of running my hands through my hair- my straight dark hair.
See, with curls you stay AWAY from them. They are meant to be KEPT, not combed. My curls would multiply and I'd have FIZZY hair if I touch them. (This was before FRIZZ-EASE came to rescue my adult locks- for 8 dollars roughly 1.20 cents per ounce of EASE).
So, my home was serious. Not lots of talk about my looks or magazines. My family thought I was just fine and didn't listen to any of my laments about having ringlets. So, I just internalized this pain. Pain via ringlets.
Then, I'd get relief because my Grandma Marjorie read trash magazines and followed "movie star lives." This lead me to venture to ask my parents for a GLAMOROUS magazine and they did buy me one and then other magazines about beauty. (Props to my parents for buying me anything that I'd read.)
So, back to lack of common sense. I have no COMMON SENSE. I have to lead a very organized life or I'd be confused all day long. I get entranced by ideas and I'm kinda a gregarious introvert. (also...I've a medical diagnosis of bipolar one...and it is possible to be two opposite things...been there done that).
Well, I'm 46 years old and I still remember smiling at my ineptness and then cringing as flies buzzed around my head. What did I do?
Well, I read in a "beauty" article that corn oil would straighten or flatten hair cuticles. So, at my Grandma Marjorie's house I scampered off with her corn oil and went to the shower. I poured a WHOLE bottle on my head.
It was fun to run my fingers through my flat hair (so weighted with oil). I rinsed once and got out and about four hours later my hair was like a marble sculpture, but still oily and wet and it looked and smelled AWFUL. I went to Grandma Marjorie's personal bathroom and robbed her bottle of shampoo and I asked my Little Grandpa to go and buy me another bottle. I washed my hair about 15 times and the next day I used up another bottle, but my curls were still sculpted. I was thankful that I didn't reek of corn oil.
Monday comes and I go to school. NOBODY comments to me. I was rather withdrawn and shy back then so I guess they didn't think I knew my hair was odd.
I'm sitting in 6th grade class. Literature. I'm the leader of the ugglies. There are eight of us on my side of the room and I always made sure no one got picked on that's why I became a "leader".
Well...even my pals (pimple overweight Pam, looks like a boy Sue Ray etc... didn't comment on my hair). But, the "beautiful" side did. I saw their eyes and giggles. The opposite side of the room held 24 "beautiful" kids who never got picked on. I had my size and "tough wisecracks" to protect myself and my eight uggly pals, but I could not stop them from laughing at my hair and...
to my UTTER amazement I heard a fly and it flew inside my curls and died. I decided to not shake it out, but leave it for my next bottle of shampoo. I cringed.
and...then came two more flies. Not lying. Who makes this stuff up?
and...they too die in my curls. I die inside, but what to do? Do I shake the flies out in class and admit the grease in my hair is life threatening (at least to flies), or do I plod on. I decide to go to the restroom and I go in a stall and shake the three flies out of my head. I run my hands through my steel curls and cry and laugh.
I take a deep breath and return to class and know that "I'm deadly...to flies" and sit down and smile. I decide to act like I "wanted" my hair to look weird because if I cried I'd get my parent's deadpan looks and long siliquious (sp) for missing school, or for leaving school early.
Today...I just laugh at my 12 year old self who didn't care how much corn oil was suppose to be used, but dumped the WHOLE bottle in my hair- my very, very, very thick, blond curls.
And...my nickname after that day was STEELCURLS. How I hated that nickname, but I could not deny its origins!