GAIL WHITE The unending stresses of unruly tresses

Some people have bad hair days.
I have had a bad hair life.
If I ever thought I once had a good hair day, all I have to do is look at my school photos to assure me I, indeed, have not.
Up until second grade, my school photos are cute but plain. I had long, thin, blond hair. In each early picture, it is pulled back in one way or another by a barrette or comb. My hairstyle did not have much style in those days.
A look at my third-grade picture reveals a young lady who should have stayed styleless.
The long, thin hair was gone, replaced with a medium-cut hairstyle with far too much body. Bouffant, I believe, is what they called the style. My version had a little too much "bouf."
Middle-school pictures reveal a young lady struggling with perms wrapped too tightly, curling irons used too often and, of course, the ever-present acne adding to the overall look of disaster.
I did manage to take a respectable senior photo. I remember rushing to the mirror, combing my hair into place and telling the photographer, "Take it now!" A good do lasts a matter of seconds in my hair before it falls.
Just won't stay
Whenever I have a "pretty good" hair day, my follicles take revenge on me the following morning. The stress of being where they were supposed to be the day before seems to leave them exhausted and they will do absolutely nothing for a week afterward.
Which is why I have greatly developed skills in the use of barrettes, combs, headbands and clasps. A rebellious hair day can easily be rectified by a swift sweeping-up of the problem area with whatever device will likely hold it there the longest.
I have come to realize that this is a major irritation to hairdressers, however.
"So, you've resorted to pulling it back," they say when I walk through the door.
I sulk to the chair and they pull the apparatus out of my hair as if it has the plague. I tuck it carefully in my pocket. I know I will be needing it later. The beauty of a new do is always lost in the wash.
To reduce my need for such hair devices, I have worked at developing my blow dryer, curling iron skills.
The beautician's blow dryer leaves my hair silky smooth and wavy. My blow dryer blows my hair to a frenzied frizz.
The curling iron at the beauty shop seems to be just the right amount of hot, adding soft, supple curls to my hair.
My curling iron is either too hot, leaving seared ends, or too cold, creating a curl that curves neither backward nor forward but straight out.
Simple solution
Which is why, to combat the ineptitude of my equipment, (yes, it is the equipment's fault!) I have put a pair of scissors in my bathroom drawer -- right next to the blow dryer and curling iron. Any errant piece of hair in my do on these follicularly challenged mornings simply gets chopped.
This, I have learned, is another peeve of hairdressers.
"If you do this to your hair again," I have heard more than once, "don't come back."
Which is why I don't have a regular hairdresser.
The truth is, hairdressers have done marvelous works with my thin, straight, limp hair. I simply cannot imitate their art at home and I have created far too many enemies in the beautician community with my inept ability to do their do justice -- compounded by my incessant hacking habit.
These events have prompted me to prescribe to the notion, "Why should I pay $30 for a haircut and hate it, when I can cut it myself and hate it for free?"
Recently, I decided that my hair needed a new look. More professional and chic was what I was aiming for.
So, following my "hate it for free" theory, I cut it myself and, indeed, hated it freely.
Less than a week later, I paid the $30.
My follicles seem to be cooperating at this time. They will, I am certain, take their revenge soon. So, I haven't thrown the scissors away yet!
gwhite@vindy.com