I have curly hair. Not normal curly hair... not the "Oh, that's so cute, you're so lucky!" curly hair. No. I have a fro all over my head weighed down with frizzy wanna-be curls that can't decide which direction to curl. It's sad, really. Every once in a while I'll do something ingenious with my hair, but generally I just try to keep it this side of a mass of tangled frizzballs.
Have a few new friends here in AR. Been interesting. These young men are from Brooklyn, NY. One fella is 26 and originally from Barbados. Soft spoken, but a killer basketball player. He loves the Lord and is in this for the long haul. I wished he'd marry one of my neices... but sadly, these things aren't up to me. Sigh.
The other fella is 33 and only a few days younger than me. I couldn't place his accent at first, and I still have a hard time understanding him. But, I might get the hang of it sooner than later. He too loves the Lord. Both the fellas are passionate about what they do... which is convert people. I really would love a study with one of 'em just to see what it is a new convert goes through in the We Care Campaign... mostly morbid curiousity, mixed with a little genuine thirst for a good bible study.
We nearly drove through fog to get to a ball game tonight and all I could think was "There goes the hair!". Fortunately no one was there to check me out. Good thing too... I spilled chili nacho sauce on my new shirt. And, when I borrowed my sisters pull-over, I spilled diet coke on it. Felt like a real lady, I'll tell ya!
So... why am I obsessed with my hair? Is it a dominance thing? Control? Vanity? Acheiving the impossible? Probably a little bit of each. One thing for sure... I'm in denial. No one would know I had naturally curly hair cuz I curl it or straighten it every day. Unless of course they catch me at a baseball park in early June in Little Rock, AR. Then they'd see the real me. Messy. Unkempt. Vain. Sigh.
This blog is all over the place. (Kinda like my hair.) I'd best let you go... In the meantime I'll be working on just the solution to my humid-reactant hair. A formula.
Hittin' the sack.