It has been said, “Never let your mother comb your hair when she’s mad at your dad.” As the child of a cosmetologist, let me illuminate this for those of you who have always paid full price for hair care.
My formative years took place at the zenith of popularity of the perm. Perm it. Let it grow about three months. Acquire a couple of inches of straight new growth at the top. Cut it off. This was my regimen for several years.
The rules of perm care were engraved in gold in the front of my Bible. And yet. The quality of my experience was not entirely within my control.
My mom was famous for her perms.
Just not among my classmates.
Fast forward to college and I am involved with the latest in a long string of “train wrecks” that passed for “boyfriends”. My mom was supposed to come over Sunday afternoon and give me a perm, but we went to his hometown that weekend. On the way home, I realized my mom would be waiting at my apartment. We squealed into the parking lot on two wheels and I apologized over and over again…really expecting it was too late for the perm and I would be paying for years to come.
Mom looked at Grandma. Grandma looked at Mom.
“We can do it.”
She used my white pink and gray rods. I don’t remember what perm (In the past she had used one that was for silver hair and I was almost bald when she finished).
I was shampooing before she was back on the interstate. Nothing. Conditioning. Still curled as tight as the wool on a sheep.
My friends didn’t RECOGNIZE me.
I didn’t pay for years. I only until I could get that B!#@$ cut off. But I paid big.
Never Ever let your mom perm you when you have personally pissed her off.
This post is linked with Mama Kat’s Writer’s workshop.