When I told a new client that I use so much hairspray the mop on my head is more hairspray than hair, she gave a hearty laugh, thinking I was jesting. Then she witnessed a fascinating, transfixing …
When I told a new client that I use so much hairspray the mop on my head is more hairspray than hair, she gave a hearty laugh, thinking I was jesting. Then she witnessed a fascinating, transfixing phenomenon. I was outside on hands and knees cleaning the garden and upon standing, a gust of wind surged, causing me to do a two-step to right myself. I looked up to see her standing in the window intently watching me. I gathered the water hose, fastened it to the lawn sprinkler and set it so the strong breeze would blow the water away from the house. When I came inside, she said, “Boy, that wind is awful.” I started to comment until she interrupted with, “But I was watching your hair and it never moved. It was mesmerizing.”
The amount of hairspray I use could only be determined by a cost analysis professional with experience in data. Having strong analytical skills and a great attention to detail he’d tell you, if not for my hair product addiction I could easily purchase a Ford F-150 Raptor F-Series truck. Ford states, “The Ford F-150 Raptor is like a regular F-150 on steroids and the most expensive truck we’ve ever built.” At $109,145, it’s almost exactly the same financial equivalent to a year’s worth of the chemical I spray into the atmosphere to tame my locks. Side note: It’s not that my hair product is expensive, it’s the mass volume involved that’s startling.
If you’re wondering if you too, use a lot of hairspray, there’s a couple of ways to tell. Multiple times each summer, bugs fly into my curls and cannot extricate themselves. Case in point: Yesterday, standing outside chatting with a friend, a beetle with the wingspan of a Volkswagen, nose-dived into one of my strands, causing itself what I’m sure was a concussion. Tipping my head upside down, I fluffed at it with my fingers to no avail. It could not on its own steam make a getaway. Gar, using a handsaw and a crowbar pried my tresses apart enough that the insect could feebly fly off.
The other way to find out if you use a lot of hair product is by asking your significant other if he can breathe when you’re together in a closed-in space. At home Gar and I don’t share a bathroom, but at our kids’ houses or at a motel we sometimes find ourselves in the same vicinity of the sink and mirror. When Gar sees me pull the lid off the hairspray he quickly covers his nose and mouth with a towel then closes his eyes. What a wimp. I take the full impact and can with all sincerity tell you, I’ve only went to the floor a handful of times.
Sadly, there’s not enough hairspray in hairspray land to help me with humidity. Also, adding rain to air that’s already saturated with muggy moisture, a glance at my unruly wig will send a seasoned sailor to his knees begging for a merciful escape.
One morning last spring we were in Lake Jackson, Texas, a town on the ocean that prides itself in using ‘condensation’ and ‘perspiration’ in every sentence. As we drove to church it began to rain a torrent, but by the time we arrived the downpour had slowed to a drizzle. Gar, wearing a baseball cap, got out and waited for me, closed up umbrella in hand. I hesitated thinking he’d realize he needed to open it up. Nope. Eyeing the sprinkles hitting the puddles, I motioned him around to my side of the truck. He frowned, but came to me, umbrella remaining shut. I rolled the window down and through gritted teeth said, “Open it up.” Appearing perplexed, he shook his head and putting his hand out palm up, protested, “It’s hardly raining.” I annunciated, “Open. The. Umbrella.” Realizing I meant business, he started fumbling with it as I got out. I stood a moment watching then decided it would be safer for my hair to simply sprint for the entrance. Seeing me actually run, Gar was stupefied and honestly who wouldn’t be? Never getting the umbrella unfastened, he came to stand by me under the church awning, murmuring something about me being, “Kinda huffy.” Remaining deadly silent I pondered my range of possibilities. Sometimes women have to carefully weigh the decision, “Do I or do I not want to do 20 to life in maximum security?”