Wednesday, 28 March 2012

Me and the perm

As a teenager my hair was dead straight and it made me sad - I wanted wavy tresses to swish around.
Odd that now my hair responds to any moisture by becoming somewhat sheep-like; this morning it dried naturally and it looked like I could join a Peter Frampton tribute band.

Quite a few girls at school had their hair permed into bouncing curls so Mum suggested I should do the same.
Instead of going to a decent hairdresser in town I go to the hairdresser that my Nan goes to (mistake #1) - Nan comes with me and tells the hairdresser what I want (mistake #2).  After hours of sitting with evil-smelling, corrosive gunk on my head the moment of truth arrives.   My head is covered with tight curls (an old lady perm to put it bluntly).  Instead of hair to flick around I look like a cross between Pennywise  and Harpo Marx (just not as appealing).

I rush home, weep, shout and when not weeping/shouting I wash my hair over and over again.   I refuse to go to school until it relaxes a little.  I wear hats and scarves (more Rosie the Riveter than Princess Grace) and put my hair up in a bun - but the crinkliness can not be disguised.  It took a whole year to grow out - a very distressing and never to be repeated experience.

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