If Mommy would be a transvestite, I think her stage name would be Miss Understood. I’m sure that she’d prefer something more glamorous like Lady LaGaffe or even Miss Demeanour, but given the state of things at the moment I think we’re better off saving the “tranny glam” for someone else. For, not only has the glam factor in Mommy’s life taken a major hit in the last twelve months (swapping dancing Choo’s for walking shoes), but these days the closest she comes to anything “fabulous dahrling” is when watching old re-runs of Will&Grace on Youtube.
Summer is here and I’m living with a bad tempered Mommy. Post breastfeeding, not only has she lost her prized C-cup but she’s now also losing her luscious locks. Seriously, the woman is shedding like a golden retriever and leaving her 20 inches long hair wherever she goes. Basically, it’s like living with a hormonal Chewbacca where every day is a bad hair day.
As such, I have come to learn the hard way that hair is a tricky thing and in fact, that it’s a bit like with real estate; it’s all about location, location, location. Have a lot of it in the right places and you are the talk of the town and the envy of both men and women around you. But should you be equally generously endowed with hair in the wrong places, the very same people will probably be talking just as much about it - just not to your face and probably not as flattering...
But the paradox doesn’t stop there. For, the same precious hair which you spend years nurturing and caring for with expensive shampoos and vitamin cures, will the very second it detaches from your head, inevitably turn into the most repulsive thing ever to have crossed your path. And particularly nasty, it would seem, is if this hair loss happens to take place whilst washing it. I may be wrong here, but if there’s anything freaking women out more on a daily basis than wet hair in the shower (not to mention public showers or pools), I’d really like to know what that is.
For men meanwhile, hair seems to represent a lifelong battle which only the likes of David Gandy and Brad Pitt look set to win. If they have enough on their heads, they’re likely to look like primates in shorts when on the beach. And on the flip side, those who are lucky enough to have Ken-like legs and smooth backs are also likely to sport an equally smooth bald patch underneath their Panama hats or a suspiciously looking comb-over à la Trump. Kind of a lose, lose if you ask me...
And as for me, Mommy keeps telling me that I shouldn’t worry and that I too, will one day grow a bouffant impressive enough to match an Eastern European weightlifter from the 80’s. But I’m not too worried to be honest. My lack of hair keeps me cool in the summer heat (what do you have to say to that Mommy Chewbacca?) and I look rather dashing in hats for when it gets cold or the sun too strong. And as far as facial hair goes? Well, this bearded hipster trend can’t go on forever and I’m sure that by the time I hit the scene, my androgynous look will be all the rage again.
But monobrows, she-staches and back beards aside, there is still one thing I don’t get when it comes to hair. Namely, the above mentioned “bad hair days”. What does that even mean? Is that when good hair decides to go bad; stealing cars and doing drugs, gangsta style? Or is it more like your hair ganging up on you as if auditioning for the sequel of Mean Girls? Or is it somewhere in between? Kind of like your hair deciding to put its feet up and spending the day in the sofa watching old reruns of Sex and the City surrounded by greasy take away food, cigarettes and yesterday’s lukewarm wine?
Whatever it is Mommy, words of wisdom from a bald, six month old to a thirty-something, wannabe L’Oreal ambassador: Next time you have a bad hair day (most likely tomorrow), look for the answers in your head – not on it. Just sayin'.