I’ve always had a very coarse, thick, oily, wiry, uncontrollable mess for a head of hair. It’s naturally curly and wavy, which makes for a control freak’s nightmare (ahem). Regardless, my stylist had convinced me to do something different in January after a two-year long go-round with me and my stubbornness. I naturally would decline letting it grow out, as it would bring back memories of standing out like a sore thumb to all who would fancy themselves a bully growing up. Old habits die hard.
Anyway, as I knew it would, it is now at the length where it does whatever it feels like. I’ve tried all sorts of gels and pomade to keep it in the style she wants, but this is all to no avail. If there be any consolation to it all, aside from the “I told you so” moments at the salon, it’s that I’ve successfully managed to steal Peter Sellers‘s hair from one of my all time favorite moves Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. I’m forever indebted to my long-time friend, Travis, for sitting me down one slow, Hooterville night and watching it over a few beers.
“Mein Führer… I CAN WALK!”
Now all I need is a pair of tinted glasses and wicked case of Alien Hand Syndrome.