I've never been accused of being good at hair. I wasn't the kid cornered during recess so I could impart my hairdo expertise onto other Troll dolls. In fact, it wasn't until I was 13 that I learned to braid, taught by my impatient and much younger step-sister who was absolutely revolted when she found out that I was ignorant of possessing such a skill.
I like to look my best and don't mind putting forth the effort to make it happen, as long as it turns out correctly (usually luck) and lasts all day (never happens, no matter how much hairspray is used). There might be nothing worse than curling my hair all morning, only to have the luscious curls and bounteous volume disappear before we even pull into the church parking lot.
So when I say I tried a new hairstyle yesterday, I expect the world to gasp in shock.
I found a beautiful picture and easy steps in my favorite magazine, Real Simple, to create a five-minute hairdo. I read the instructions several times and studied the picture carefully to convince my brain that I could conquer such an undertaking. So what if I don't own any bobby pins! Who needs 'em! And I like the character added by my "messy" version. Who likes slick, perfect-looking hair?! That stuff is for boring professional hairdressers (and apparently models in magazines).
It was fun to try. And, believe it or not, I felt more feminine because I knew I had made the effort to improve my look. A braided side bun is way prettier than a good ol' ponytail. And now I know that! I doubt I will stay awake at night wondering how else to make my locks turn into perfection. But a temporary dip into the world of hair will probably do me some good now and then.