First, I would like to wish my mom, Brenda, the amazing lady that she is, a very happy birthday! Exactly one year ago today, we had ourselves a birthday breakfast, and then set off in a moving truck bound for Texas. Our house had just closed, and being the amazing lady that she is, she offered to pack up my apartment while I worked, and then drove that truck, me, and my two cats across four states in three days so we could move in. I wish I could be home celebrating with her right now, or at least giving her a big hug and some birthday pancakes. Happy birthday, Mommy!
So, you know how I have been mentioning that I am no good with memory recollection, and I can hardly remember things that happen a week ago? Yeah. Today's prompt for #Blogtober14 is your funniest memory from childhood. This prompt is tough for me.
It may not be my funniest memory, but I guess I can relieve a sort of funny time in my childhood, when I was obsessed with big hair and wanted to look like everything that was wrong with the '90's.
When I was in the third grade, I begged my mom to let me get a spiral perm. I guess I was into hair, even back then. This was in the thick of the early '90's, when every girl I noticed had long spiral permed hair and big bangs. Oh, and scrunchies. And weird headbands. And stirrup pants. And side-tied t-shirts. Oh yes, the '90's were totally tubular and absolutely insane.
I had shoulder length, stick straight hair, and desperately wanted it to be curly. I would go so far as to sleep in sponge rollers so my hair would be curly, but it was uncomfortable and the curls never looked right. After much pleading, my mom finally gave in. She took me to Cost Cutters, a chain of hair salons that catered to families, and was a step above a Super Cuts. The hairstylist that worked with my family whenever we went in was the one tasked with making my hair look beautiful like all of the high school girls I rode the bus to and from school with. Giant green rods were twisted and spun into my hair, then clipped into circles, making me look like a tiny, bobble-headed Medusa, before a trash bag was placed over the rods for my perm to develop. The weight of the rods, and the stink of the chemical were horrific, and the long process was something my 8 year old self hadn't imagined. I waited anxiously, hoping I would have beautiful Jessie Spano or Sarah Jessica Parker hair when all was done. Finally, the stylist unwrapped the rods and sent me out into the world with my freshly permed, giant head of curls stinking of perm solution and with strict instructions not to wet my hair for three days.
I am pretty sure I was incredibly happy with my new curls, but so terrified by what all of my friends would say. I mean, when you are eight, what other people think of you is more important that what you think. I didn't have long to wait. That afternoon, I was going to a friend's birthday party at an ice skating rink. I remember my hair still being damp when I arrived, and how the icy air made it poof out horribly. Now I know product would have been incredibly helpful. Or to just not have gotten a perm in the first place. The birthday girl, my friend Jackie, skated over and screeched "what did you do to your hair?! It's so big!" I just fluffed my hair self-consciously and said "I permed it", like that was the most natural thing for a third grader to do.
I never did get the memo that hair products would have made my blonde afro more manageable, but I did let that hideous perm grow out, and never considered perming my hair again. In a funny twist of fate, however, when I hit puberty, my hair became wavy, and I spent many days with gel-scrunched curls well into my post-high school days, never imagining that I had even a slight resemblance to my permed hair days.
