One Grippy to Rule Them All

I have long hair. One time, I experimented with short hair, and it went horribly bad. Never again. I will be 97 years old with hippie hair.

I put my tresses through a lot of fussing.

Because it’s super fun. I spend hideous amounts of money on it. Which has nearly driven my husband crazy. We almost broke up in 1999 over it.

I’m kidding. But he always shakes his head and rolls his eyes at my expensive shampoos, conditioners, and the hundreds of styling products and tools I have to buy to get the perfect super model look.

This look right here, might seem to be effortless.

O no. No no no. This takes much toiling and troubling.

But, I will say, when I am super busy with kids and laundry and bowling tournaments, I resort to throwing it up.

Someday, I will be crying to you over my lack of hair. Because, I think as I get older, it will most likely thin out, if history tends to repeat itself. I have watched this happen to older female family members.

But, for right now, I can say, this much hair can be a curse. Why?

Because there is only ONE kind of ponytail holder that keeps my hair up where it belongs. Everything else breaks, or doesn’t hold it, making me look like I’ve either been through a nasty hurricane and lived to tell about it, or a P90X workout. And lived to tell about it. These little gems are amazing. They are called THE GRIPPYS in our house. I watch over them with care and love. If you were dying, and needed a GRIPPY, I’d have to really think long and hard before loaning one out. You can find them in 3 locations.

1. In my purse/hobo bag (as my husband refers to it)

2. In the drawer that holds pens, tape, nail files, sometimes the stapler, and many times, chewing gum.

3. In my bathroom.

Yesterday, I went to throw my hair into a ponytail. It was 180 degrees out with 200% humidity, and I had to walk the dog.

Do you think I could find any Grippy’s?

I tore through this house like a meth addict looking for…

well, Meth.

I have no experience with meth, but I’m guessing it’s pretty addictive.

All, and I mean ALL my Grippy’s were gone.

What the heck? How could that happen?

It seems like someone is trying to break into my very soul. What’s next? My favorite straightening gel that makes my hair sleek, shiny and rock star-ish?

If you guys have any inkling about what could have happened to all my Grippys….any information at all, please contact me immediately. Yesterday, it was just the dog walking that suffered. Tomorrow, it could be my friend calling for an emergency workout session.

Then what?

Answer me that.

Fishtail

I was almost a hairstylist. When I was in highschool, my friend Hollie and me were going to some big city..to learn the art. We were going to open up a Salon that rock stars come to. Very tre’ chic. Very expensive. People would be coming from far and wide to have us make them beautiful.

And then, somehow our plans changed. I ran off to college with Edward, she fell in love, too  (has her masters in Teaching young kids)…and our dreams of cutting, highlighting, and business operator discounts on hair products went up in smoke like a cheap blow dryer.

The other day, though, as Violet’s softball team lounged in the oasis of a large tent and cold drinks, awaiting their next game, I started playing with one of the little girl’s hair as she leaned against my legs.

She had originally put it in a ponytail, but the sides were coming loose from diving to home plate, and the characteristic South Dakota winds.

I raked my fingers through her long golden highlighted strands, and started doing a classic “fishtail” plait down her back. Other little girls stopped chattering and began watching in wonder. It really did look cool, if I do say so myself.

My beautiful little victim seemed to glow as others told her how amazing her hair looked, and as she smiled at me appreciatively, I was inundated with “Lisa!! Could you please do that to MY hair? ..I’m next!! Wait your turn!”

I ended up fishtailing every last girl on the team. I laughed to myself when I remembered me and Hollie, wishing to have famous people on our waiting list.

My salon wasn’t a fancy one, in vintage downtown New York. It was a tent. I didn’t have any famous rock stars, although one of the little girls did a really great Nikki Minaj impression. But it was fun. Really fun.

Especially when my own daughter, who rarely lets me touch her long dark tresses, came up and shyly requested my services. HA! See Violet? I DO know what I’m doing!! (I didn’t say it. I wanted to. But I’m no gloater. I swear a good part of  pre-teen motherhood is the practice of biting one’s tongue)

Are you waiting for me to tell you how to do it? I won’t. But I could put you on my waiting list….let’s see..looks like I have an opening in early November. Shall I pencil you in? 🙂