The Devil Made Me Do It!

Monday, August 10, 2009 Posted by Karen


The devil really didn't want me to make it to church yesterday. How do I know? Because when it was time to get ready, I fell into a hair trance. Even though I knew that I had only 1 hour to get the family prepared, I decided to wash my daughter's hair. And with that, of course, came the dilemma of "quick" styling. Instead of just binding those whooly little coils into puff tails, I chose instead to try curling it with the curling iron-- something I had promised her I would do for church one day.

So, 1 hour later, I finally got finished with her hair. My son laughed, and said that she looked like her teacher. Then he said that she looked like their grandmother. He pretty much told her that she looked like every older black woman he knew. My daughter said, "Don't do my hair like this for school. Because everyone's going to be asking me about it". She's 5, by the way.

So, as I was searching the closet for a headband to put on her head, I had to ask myself, "Why did I do that?". Sure, she had asked me about wearing her hair curly, since she'd seen another girl at her school wear her hair like that. But I know better. I know that my daughter's hair is more similar to my hair than to that of the little girl at school with the thick luscious locks that don't 'fro out at the slightest humidity.

Once the headband was on, it looked O.K. I tried not thinking about the 87 degree temps, and the 65% humidity that was about to undo EVERYTHING I had spent an hour doing.

And then it was time to do my hair. Oh heavens...

Church started at 11:30 am. It was now 11:35 am, and I hadn't done a thing to my own head yet.

I had washed my hair the night before, blown it out, and then made chunky twists all over my head. Now, had I planned to wear a twist out on Sunday morning, I would have taken more care in the neatness and tightness of those twists when I put them in on Saturday night. But since I hadn't, a twist out was not going to work.

It was now 11:45 am.

I had to think fast. I remembered... "When all else fails, run to the wig box!!!"

So as fast as I could, I dug through every hair piece that I had.

I had to find something that I could maneuver quickly, because it was getting later and later.

I finally fished out some of my 1/2 wigs that had a roller set look. I tried finding the LEAST shiny one, considering that one of my pet peeves with weave wearers is the horrendous non-matching texture look. Nothing screams hair disaster more to me than seeing the obvious line between someone's natural hair and that of their weave, extensions, or hair piece.

I put the 1/2 wig on, then quickly curled the front of my hair. All the while I kept saying to myself, "This is a disaster. I hope the curling iron's not too hot. This hair doesn't match. I should do something else. But, I'm late for church. But I can't go with my hair lookin' like this. Get THEE BEHIND ME SATAN!!!!"

So yes, ladies. For Jesus' sake, I ended up going to church with the dreaded 2 different hair textures screaming from my head.

I arrived at church at 12:25 pm, with my head hanging down.

My hubby was helping with parking that day, so of course I had to see him as I rolled up at the 11th hour. Once parked, I came up to him, tucked my head in his shoulder and said, "I'm so embarrassed!". He said, "Me, too!", then laughed with me.

The last 1/2 of the sermon was really good. I can see why the devil didn't want me to make it that day. But God had the last laugh! I made it to church, AND I got my blessing. And the fact that my black scarf was tucked in my purse for a humidity emergency helped, too.

By 2:30 that afternoon, my daughter looked like she belonged on a public service announcement for needy children. Her curls were afro chunks lined with dust, thanks her wild behavior in the carpeted playroom. When all was said and done, the headband had moved from the middle of her head, to her forehead-- holding back absolutely nothing.

She was happy as a clam.

Mm. Lesson learned.

Happy Hair Lovin',

Karen

0 comments:

Post a Comment