Forgive us this our dreadful vanity, but..
Thank you GOD! I! Still have hair! At 42! Yes!!
It has always been very straight. As in Chinese guy with straightener in it. And fine. Cut it short (which I did for years), and it sticks out. Let it grow (which I have done for the past couple of years) and it just hangs. Enough length to keep it down means the front hangs almost to my chin. But I want tidy, 30's, 40's kind of manly hair. Stays put!!! Comb it and it stays where you comb it to!
My hair person, who shall remain unidentified so that if she gets scabies and rickets or maybe flesh-eating bacteria, you can't trace it back to my chanting and incense, suggested a perm. "Just enough to get some body into it."
The balloon scenario bloomed overhead... me in a chair with cape, in rollers and a baggie. Other patrons snickering...
"Uh... not sure if I'm a perm kind of guy..."
She reassured me that it'd be OK, just a wave. No curls.
Yesterday found me in curlers and perm solution, in a cape and with a baggie on my head, with the other patrons in the suddenly packed salon, snickering. I am the only guy. All the slender, attractive women within 60 miles are getting their hair done at the same time I'm there in an Ethel Mertz getup.
Turns out? My hair? Takes perm solution like a a sponge takes water.
Though I didn't know this because the wall full of mirrors held a special terror and looking to see was out of the question. "He's not looking," said Hairdo Lady. "No, he's not," said I.
Then she scisssored and buzzed and snipped. A lot, it seemed. She stopped chatting and concentrated as though she were carefully removing a tumor from the part of my brain that controls erectile function.
When it was done, and the mirror shone back the new me, I had serious misgivings. Ringlets! Dean Martin! But Orthodox! And I had to pay her money! To look like an Italian Lutheran Rabbi!
I drove home and called ahead to warn my family. "It's a clusterf..."
But once I was home and looked at the back, I understood the special horror in my wife's face. The back was almost shaved up to the crown, and atop my head was a rug of pubes! PUBES I say!
The directions I got were to not wash it for two days or it would relax. So into the shower for two washings and a quart of conditioner.
Ringlets! See the picture? I wanted to look like him, but I look like her!
Let us drink alcohol.
I know not how it will end, but gel, spike glue and butch wax have the ringlets pasted to my head at least. The back will just have to grow out. I think my wife should not have said I was spazzing about it. Because clearly? Spazzing.
Fortunately, I collect hats.