And was inspired to write a post about some of my own hair stories.
For those of you who don't know - I have sisters. My family is one kid short of double the norm (there's four of us - I was trying to be witty - it didn't work). I have two younger sisters and an older half-sister. And all four of us decided when we were little that we had an aversion to hair cuts.
First of all, none of us liked brushing our hair. In fact, we straight up refused to. Because our hair was so long it seemed like a huge chore that we could get away with forgoing (spoiler alert: we couldn't). From 4th to 6th grade I had a huge dreadlock on the back of my head. Sometimes it would be covered in a layer of brushed hair, often times not.
One time in 6th grade when it was particularly bad (I could see the top of it over my head in the mirror bad) my mom asked me to put it up to make it a little less obvious. I had to find the most stretched out hair tie in the house, but I made it work. That day my favorite teacher (science - we used to hate on writing together because we wrote like we talked and the writing teacher in that grade was terrible, one time she... posts on that in the future) came up to me at lunch and grabbed the knot that was my hair. She commented. I don't remember what she said (just that it wasn't mean or embarrassing... yeah no idea what she said) but after that, and hours of trying to get it out, I started brushing my hair regularly. Funnily enough my sisters each have very similar stories. Apparently we don't learn anything from each other.
But what about the hair yoga?
We're getting there.
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Now, you might not know what happens in this circumstance. Hint: A Disaster. The brush suddenly becomes a torture device. Most parents would get a pair of scissors or take their kid to the hair dresser. Elizabeth's father shaved her head to teach her to brush her hair. But my little sister cried and said she liked her long hair. My mom had to leave (and didn't want to deal with her) so they made a pact. I call someone to help, you brush your hair from now on. In tears, she agreed. Now my mom laughs when she remembers calling Elizabeth for help. But at the time she was miles past being mortified. You know someone loves you when she spends four, that's right FOUR, hours trying to get a brush out of your hair. And that's after she cut all the bristles off the brush. Yeah. She did start brushing her hair after that though. And, she will never use a round brush again. Ever. Not even once.
The last story (yes, yes, the hair yoga story, I know that's the only reason you decided to read this post) that I will share today involves yours truly and my older sister. I was seven or eightish in her room (my parents gave her their room when she was in town) catching up before she went to some important dinner meeting. Actually I must have been older. I don't know what 13/14-year-old has important dinner meetings. Anyways, somehow, the idea of hair yoga was formed (aside: if you remember how it came up, please let me know). We thought it was hysterical. We were almost in tears from laughing so hard. I know I said "it's hair yoga! you have to say 'owwww' instead of 'ommmmm.'" Then, I decided that it was an excellent time to try it out. First we started with stretches. That was pretty much me moving her hair up and down, reminding her to say "owwww" by occasionally pulling. After playing with her hair a little, it was time for the twist poses. I took every strand of hair on her head in my hands and stuck the wad on the top of her scalp. I then proceeded to walk in a circle around her with my hand on top of her head. This went on for a long time. Not even too long. So far past too long there's no word for it. What I thought I was doing - making a bun or hair twist that would be easy to take out. She thought the same. After all, I was only twisting it. What could go wrong? What I was actually doing - causing an impressive knot. And by impressive, I mean impressive. When I (finally) took my hand away the hair didn't move. When she tried to shake the twist out, it still didn't move. Not even a little. Oops. Then my mom comes in the room. "Okay, time to g-WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR HAIR??" I tried to explain hair yoga to my mom while my sister frantically tried to do something about the hopeless knot. My mom did not understand. The knot did not come out. I felt horrible, but there was nothing I could do. She left for her dinner meeting brush in hand, hair in knot, swearing she would kill me when when she got home.
So, if anyone was wondering - hair yoga - not good.
The more I think about it the more hair stories I come up with. But I think I'll leave it at that for now.
Coming Soon: Hair Stories Part Two
I think I will end with the same invitation as Darcy Perdu - does anyone else have any hair stories?
