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Ok, I’m currently going through a hair transition. The plan is to stop straightening my hair and let it grow in its natural form. The dream is that my hair would be as cute as it is on that doll. Or in reality any number of the these lovely ladies:

In the last couple years, I’ve gone through a range of hair changes but all with the plan that, once married, I’d go back to being natural. Natural = No chemical straightening. 

Now, in all honesty, I’ve tried to do this before. I’d begin and as it got more difficult (the point where a decision between cut it all off and have no hair or get a weave to cover up the hot mess happening) is where I typically folded and ran, as quickly as possible, back to the Dominicans with $30 in hand and their packages of NO LYE Relaxers. 

 

However now that I live in a land without my beloved Dominicans and the cost of a relaxer is typically £75 ($119), I’ve been staying strong!

Here’s where the story gets good…

Since my folks are visiting, the family and I decided to take them down to Brixton for the day. And as we walked around a market, Burs and lil Burs went off to look at fabric, while my folks and I decided to take a sitting break before heading off to eat. As a crowd of people went past, I looked up and saw a friend of Burs’ – a lovely tall fellow*, we’ll call Norm – who I then stopped and said hi to.

He stopped and I could see a lack of recognition. To which I say my name and that I’m Burs’ wife. He looks at me and says – and I quote “Oh my god, I didn’t recognise you. You look a lot less glamorous than you usually do.”

BURN!

And of course, in the crowded and noisy market, my parents heard that. Later that day, as my mum fluffed my hair she uttered the statement ‘less glamorous then usual’.

Her point was made.

So now, I’m weakening. To be called unglamorous is painful.  (The more sensible part of me is doing its best to talk me off the ledge. Of course I didn’t look as glamorous; I was at a flea market on a Saturday with my parents after four days of sleeping on a blow-up mattress in the living room. I was exhausted and didn’t tend to myself in the usual fashion.) My ego is simply not listening to a very sensible argument.

Ugh, I’m faltering.

*Initially I used gay to describe Norm here because, well, he is but I thought it also helped to understand why this would be insulting. An insult about your looks from a gay man is just as bad as one from – nope, no there’s nothing else to compare it to. But then I realised it is an obvious summation once the insult is written out because what straight guy would tell a married woman that she looks less glamorous than usual? And what straight woman hold their opinion up as a standard?

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