As far back as I can remember the women in my family have washed their hair in the kitchen sink. I know. Get the comet out, scrub the sink and wash your hair. There is a reason for this.
For my grandmother, it was because she didn't have a shower in her house and Henry. She had this beautiful claw foot tub, but no shower. She had a huge porcelain sink in her kitchen, with a built in drain board. I can still smell that clean sweet water coming out of the faucet on a warm summer evening.
Moving forward, to homes with tubs and showers, my mother, my sister and even myself would wash our hair in the bathroom sink. I can still see my mother bent over the sink with a handful of this pink cream shampoo called Lustre Cream that came in a huge jar, and a bottle of vinegar to rinse it out. OMG. The smell.
So, why? No one wanted to get water in their face or eyes. Why? Because Henry, our cousin drowned sometime in the 1930s and everyone knows if you get in water, you're going to drown. Therefore, no one in our family was allowed to go swimming or learn to swim, or wash your hair in THE SHOWER.
I was a renegade, in so many ways during my teen years. Uncontrollable I was because I started washing my hair in the shower. Until the other day, when I got up one Saturday, took a shower, put my make up on and told Mr. QVC that he was going to highlight my hair like he did in the old days. WHAT? He said, "You'll have to get back in the shower to wash it all out." "No" I said. I'm going to wash my hair in the kitchen sink. Since we remodeled our 1995 kitchen, I have put in a larger, deeper sink, that I can drown in, along with a nice spray nozzle on the faucet.
After my hair went through shades of orange and gold, it finally got to the lemon yellow I was looking for. I took the plastic bag off of my head and I went for it. I about lost my Episcopalianess, when the water started to rush down my face, into my eyes, down my neck, up my nose and in my ears. What fresh hell was this I was experiencing?
I finally got it all washed out, toned, conditioned and dried. I then reapplied my Saturday makeup and revealed to Mr. QVC his awesomeness that saved me $300. A $10 kit from Walmart and it looks fabulous.
But, I will never again wash my hair in the kitchen sink unless for some reason my shower is broken.
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Saturday, May 14, 2016
The Outcome
No, this blog isn't about a woman with little or no scruples. It is a chronicle of the past and present of what my life was and is. I will however tell you about Lucille and the bane of my existence, my hair.
As I sit here on the edge of my bed with a plastic bag over my head, praying that my hair doesn't turn orange, I think of Lucille. She was a hairdresser of sorts and I say sorts because I'm just not sure how much training she had. She was an imposing woman to me at the age of four, she wore all white like a nurse, even wore nurses shoes. I don't remember much except for the outcome, but I think her "salon" was in her home and the waiting room was in a side porch.
One thing about Lucille was that she liked her bourbon just a little too much. Therefore, the outcome. The outcome happened because my grandmother was taking me to JC Penney's for a picture and she thought I needed my hair "trimmed" up. I had the little pink dress, with the white jacket and black patent leather shoes. Not sure why we were so concerned about the color I was wearing because the picture was black and white. I digress.
I got in the chair and Lucille who smelled of something sweet took the scissors and went to work. The whole time chatting with my grandmother. When it was all over and done with, she whipped off the cape and whirled my chair around and I got my first look at "Lucille Bangs." It was almost as if she had laid the scissors right down to my hair line and whacked them off. It's true, I have a picture to prove it. Little girls with high foreheads and chubby cheeks need long bangs and these were anything but long.
So now, each time I go to get my hair cut, when the subject of the bangs comes up and I see a flash of stainless steel out of the corner of my eye, I freak. I haven't had a repeat episode of "the outcome" as I am always poised to grab my hairdresser's wrist at the first memory of Lucille.
Now I want my bangs long to cover up what I should be using botox for. But that will be an upcoming adventure to my husband's dismay.
As I sit here on the edge of my bed with a plastic bag over my head, praying that my hair doesn't turn orange, I think of Lucille. She was a hairdresser of sorts and I say sorts because I'm just not sure how much training she had. She was an imposing woman to me at the age of four, she wore all white like a nurse, even wore nurses shoes. I don't remember much except for the outcome, but I think her "salon" was in her home and the waiting room was in a side porch.
One thing about Lucille was that she liked her bourbon just a little too much. Therefore, the outcome. The outcome happened because my grandmother was taking me to JC Penney's for a picture and she thought I needed my hair "trimmed" up. I had the little pink dress, with the white jacket and black patent leather shoes. Not sure why we were so concerned about the color I was wearing because the picture was black and white. I digress.
I got in the chair and Lucille who smelled of something sweet took the scissors and went to work. The whole time chatting with my grandmother. When it was all over and done with, she whipped off the cape and whirled my chair around and I got my first look at "Lucille Bangs." It was almost as if she had laid the scissors right down to my hair line and whacked them off. It's true, I have a picture to prove it. Little girls with high foreheads and chubby cheeks need long bangs and these were anything but long.
So now, each time I go to get my hair cut, when the subject of the bangs comes up and I see a flash of stainless steel out of the corner of my eye, I freak. I haven't had a repeat episode of "the outcome" as I am always poised to grab my hairdresser's wrist at the first memory of Lucille.
Now I want my bangs long to cover up what I should be using botox for. But that will be an upcoming adventure to my husband's dismay.
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