I wore a white lacy dress. I was as pale as can be expected of a girl of Irish heritage in a Chicago winter. Ah, nothing like pairing a white dress with a pasty white complexion! Posing for my portrait without my glasses made sense, since I was planning to get contact lenses. Who knew I would be too squeamish to pull that off? More about that in a subsequent post. That is quite a story in and of itself. So my picture just looks like something is missing. After 4th grade, I was NEVER without my glasses.
My hair was barely longer than my brothers'. This was not a style I chose. It was a style- and I use the term loosely- that my Mom LOVED. Therefore, I was given no choice. I am pretty sure that I have written about the horrors of the history of my hair before. If you are unfamiliar, let me catch you up to speed:
My Mom likes short hair. Always has. I was taken to a beautician to achieve a Dorothy Hamel look in the mid 70's. That was my last childhood visit to a beautician. Moving forward, my Mom cut my hair in the same fashion as my brothers' hair -with a straight edge razor blade. This plan kept with the family budget and allowed her to create the 'feathered' look that she adored.
When I was in junior high, our neighbor was a beautician. She cut hair in her makeshift basement salon. My sisters and I would walk thru the backyards and arrive at Mrs. Patty's house when instructed by Mom. I begged to be allowed to grow my hair longer, but Mom was always quick to point out that my hair just didn't look right long. Anytime I avoided my impending basement trim my hair grew out - to the sides. It lacked the ability to flow down to my shoulders like the lucky bitches in the shampoo commercials.
It wasn't until high school when we no longer lived in close proximity to Mrs. Patty, that I grew my hair out. It often looked like a frizzy heap. I ignored my Mom's pleas to cut it along with her derogatory comments about how it resembled a bale of hay.
I arrived to high school one day early in my senior year with damp hair. A girl in my homeroom leaned across the isle, studied my locks, and informed me that I had curly hair. You could have blown me over with a hairdryer. She insisted that all I needed was product.
|Totally different look when she 'does' her hair. |
When not pulled up, she lets it air dry straight.
I now wear my hair shorter again. Sadly, my hair is so thin that longer styles are not an option for me. They drag and scream 'look at my scalp.' I refuse to get it cut as incredibly short as I did as a kid. I have some layers that I can fluff. My mom and my two sisters continue to rock the borderline-crew-cut look.
|Good hair all around - |
Mini and little redhead baby I sit for!
I like to remind her how fortunate she is that her mother buys a multitude of very pricey hair products. Part of this budget-blowing indulgence is that Curly's hair requires some serious tubes of 'stuff' to keep it manageable.
I admit that it does irk me a bit that Mini's typical hair style is the quick and easy 'messy-bun'. She will blow it dry for special occasions, but often pulls it back away from her face leaving it flat across the top of her head. She argues with me that my suggestion to give a BIT of height is 'so 80's'.
|Exhibit A: Mini's messy bun! |
(click here to read the story about why Mini wore this for Halloween)