I told you that on Thursday night I slept in pink foam rollers, and true to prediction, I had a relatively sleepless night between nerves about singing and discomfort. Good call on that one, Ibe.

I couldn't remember what time the wedding was (yeah, it's sad) so I called my mom and found out it was an hour later than I'd thought. I told her that I was going to need the extra hour to wrestle with the Little Orphan Annie head I was sporting and she invited me to go up to her house where there were several hair dressers who'd been hired to come in (remember, it was the 4th of July, I couldn't just go to any hairdresser). I hemmed and hawed for about 4 seconds and decided to go on up.

I already was feeling weird about my last minute dress purchase. It was beautiful, but very formal, like night-time formal. It was long and black and had a jacket with gold and shimmering green threading so I could cover up my Trucker-arm syndrome. From what I could see, everyone else was wearing daytime formal, flowing, flowery and light dresses. On top of the material being heavier than I like, it was hitting an all time temperature high and humid in a way that make mid-westerners flock to Arizona.

So, I was thinking that since I knew I'd be sweating and it was humid and the dress was too dressy, that if she would maybe do my hair in a french braid, it would be a sturdy and casual and slightly trendy doo, and would play down the formal wear. Unfortunately, the hairdresser felt that her french braiding was not yet perfected and suggested that she do my hair in a french twist. Not knowing the difference between the braid and the twist, I okayed it.

She immediately grabbed a handful of hair and began making snarls, "ratting" is the term, but let's face it, she was making snarls. And she did it with fervor and she "ratted" every single hair on my head tightly to my scalp. She took an occasional break to empty another bottle of lacquer onto my head, only to return to her feverish ratting

When she was done, my head ached from the 400 pins sticking directly into my scalp, every single hair hurt from being ratted into a know, and my heart hurt because I knew, without checking, that I looked like a freak. I know I should have spoken up. She kept assuring me that it wouldn't be high. She promised that to me. She kept saying "It won't be high" but when I looked into a mirror (actually 3 mirrors stacked on end so that I could see to the top of it) I realized she must have said "I wove a bee hive."

I successfully stifled a scream. I told her I loved it, and attributed the tears in my eyes to a reaction to one of the cans of hair spray she used on me. What was I supposed to say? There was nothing she could do, because by this time there were only 3 hours left until the wedding, and it would take at least 3 weeks to work the ratting out. Nothing could be done. So I put on my brave face and laughed. Hell, it WAS kind of funny.

When I got home, MOTH tried to be nice by assuring me it was elegant, but Finchie couldn't help but be honest when he shrieked "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD...WHAT did you do to your hair?!?!?" Yeah, that boy has a sensitive spot in him. I'm just not sure where.

I finished applying my Mary Kaye makeup and I donned my gown and broke into a rousing chorus of "There's No Business Like Show Business." MOTH knew I was right about the look, it was pure Ethel.

Because I was singing in the service, I sat kind of in front and over to the side, and I had to be there early. I saw my siblings come and I watched them scan the church, obviously looking for me. They didn't recognize me. Nor did anyone but my mom and Karen and the bride, all of whom were present at the scene of the hair assault.

After the service, my aunts came over to hug me and tell me how much they enjoyed the singing. I love them so much, and I know the feeling is mutual. My little-but-favorite aunt said that she hadn't recognized me until I sang and only then because she was looking in the program and it said I was singing. I told her that's because she was looking for the wrong person, she should have been looking for Ethel Merman. She fell onto the pew laughing. It was too true. Then my other aunt, who I love also had who has a great dry wit and who must be nearly 70 said, "Ya know...I used to wear my hair like that."

I damn near shit right there. Yeah, that made me feel better, all righty.

The reception hall had the temperature set to an icy 110 degrees, so I began to melt further once there. I felt my doo begin to slide to the right, and at one point when MOTH and I were dancing cheek to cheek he stuck to my hair. It's a good thing I don't smoke because had I lit a spark anywhere near my head I would have ignited brighter than Richard Pryor.

Since the Povertymobile is still without air conditioning, I rode home with my head sticking out the window. It took its toll. We arrived home with a "Bride of Frankenstein" look, minus the gray streak.

The thing I wonder about more than anything is how do people do this to their hair with any kind of frequency? How can anyone wear this day after day? Maybe the secret is to just leave it alone, I think it would have held its shape for a good month if I'd let it. But the pins were really killing me! I was too tired, too hot, and too post-drunk to want to wrestle with much the doo that night. So, MOTH helped me take out the pins and I collapsed in bed. However, morning came, and with the dawn, a new dilemma:

---

Won't you PLEASE leave your feedback here?
0 readers left their mark on this one!

TagBoard

Name URL or Email Messages(smilies) Read the previous entry - Read the next entry Who's Who in Ibe's Diary (last UPDATED September 21, 2008) If you would like to be notifed each time this page is updated, stick your email addy in the form and click on "join." Your email address: