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Rods and Red

 

Photo by Mohamed Nohassi on Unsplash

I colored my daughter’s hair yesterday,

I bleached some pieces around her face and then added fiery red.

She liked it, at least her preteen self said she liked it, we’ll know for sure today.

When I was twelve my mom took me to the JCPenney Hair Salon,

I got a perm.

I remember the smells, rotten egg like. So many curlers too, felt like we were there for hours, didn’t matter, I felt like a grown-up, getting my hair done.

After the stylist took out the curlers I remember thinking, poodle.

Don’t remember any compliments or good feeling surrounding me at all, just kind of an…oh.

And then we went home.

My hair was naturally wavy to begin with, so days after were spent perfecting a styling technique, trying to tame my new look. Lots of gel, mouse and water… laughable, not too soon.

At school, I felt the unwarm reception. Eventually the perm settled down and my hair forever would hold the frizzy scars in place from it.

Ya know, that was the style back then, a perm meant you were with the times.

So glad that these times start washing out after a few weeks.

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