When I was nine years old and learned how to french braid for the first time, I became obsessed with hair. I would play with anyone’s hair who would let me, since I only had short hair on my own head. I had of those giant doll-heads that you could put make-up on, but her stupid hair plugs were a disappointment and made ugly-ass braids. Barbie Dolls? Same thing. And my brother wouldn’t let me near his head. Damn him.
When I went to high school, I discovered a pool of girls who NEEDED their hair braided before sporting events. Before long? I was the go-to girl mornings before volleyball games (I played volleyball! did you know that?) and basketball and softball and soccer and…pretty much any activity that there were girls who had long hair participating in. I was the best in town because I could even get some short hair into braids, and my braids? They held like I had used super-glue on the strands. I was AWESOME.
It was fun for awhile, and they always let me do funky things like braid designs into their hair. But, after a couple of seasons? It got old because it interrupted my homework procrastination time before school. I needed those precious minutes to finish assignments I had put off until the last possible second.
(How did I graduate with honors again?)
Years (or “year” I guess) passed and I got preggars with LilZ. Where I was so glad he was a boy because I was scared to have a little girl, I was aware that also took away my chance to have a head of hair at my disposal to braid and style. So, I did the next best thing: I tormented my friend’s daughters’ by forcing them to let me play with their hair.
They all say now prayers of thanks because I finally have a daughter of my own who I can torture. And last night? I subjected her to her first style by me. Granted, it’s just a clippy that I took out the second the picture was done because all I need is a sick baby choking on a barrette to make my day complete. Either way – it was a first step of what is bound to be years of misery for NikkiZ since we all know that because I’ve been waiting for that hair for SO LONG, she’s going to hate it and want it all chopped off before she’s old enough to say, “Get your effin’ hands of my tresses, woman.”