The Car Broke Down and Mary Hates Her Hair

I don’t know about any of you all, but my daughters went through that stage where they wanted me to put their hair in ponytails, but I just couldn’t get it right.
“Can’t you see that bump?” they would admonish. “This isn’t smooth!” they’d cry, tears welling up. “I can’t go to school like this!”
I think it’s a developmental stage called Ponytail Syndrome. I’ll have to ask my child development friends.

Does this sound familiar to anyone, or is it just me? I can tell you that it was not a good way to start my day. By the time I finally got the hair smoothed back perfectly, I was a wreck. My armpits were sweating. I was having heart palpitations from holding in my anger. My own hair was a mess from the struggle of bending my arms in impossible ways in order to get the hair absolutely smooth.

We revisited those days yesterday. Mary decided to get bangs cut. She’s been planning this for some time. She does have a lovely widow’s peak, which, by the way, is a sign of beauty in “The Canterbury Tales.” Anyway, Mary was on her way to get her hair cut when she called me at the office and said her car had died. Not a good sign, if you believe in that sort of thing, which I don’t, but maybe I should. Her car was overheating and, as I was leaving the office to rescue her, my mind was wandering to the Cash for Clunkers deal…. I found her on the side of the road, sweating and late for her appointment.

You can probably guess the rest of this sad story. I dropped her off to get her hair cut, and when I picked her up, she looked great. I loved her hair and told her so. Well, that’s when the waterworks began. She wanted to know how I REALLY felt. So I told her that I really felt like I liked her hair and maybe she just wasn’t used to it. That was not acceptable. She REALLY wanted to know how I REALLY felt. Well, I really felt like I liked it, but I wasn’t sure if I should lie and tell her I DIDN’T like it, or tell the truth and tell her I did. You know – one of those classic parent dilemmas.

I even offered to style it for her, at which time she accused me of being conceited for feeling like I could make it look better. As you can see, I was digging myself into a bigger hole.

We haven’t discussed the hair today, but I know how she feels. Sometimes new hairstyles just take some getting used to. You have to live with it for a couple of days.
What is it with women and their hair anyway?