Monday, June 27, 2011

Day 23: Something That You Miss

30-Day Blog Challenge

Hot combs are mean, like Gargamel and Gremlins.

I want to say I miss the days when Mom used to do my hair, but then I remembered the awful hot comb.  There it sits, at my seven-year-old eye-level, resting on red hot burner coils.  She applies the grease.  I clench my eyelids and try to be as still as stone, holding my ears down with my fingertips, knowing the burning hot comb is approaching my face.  It almost touches me!  I breathe an audible sigh of relief as she makes it through a section of hair in one pass without scalding me.  During the less successful passes, I yelp -- still trying to be frozen in time, so as not to get burnt again -- while the steam and grease sears my scalp, making that awful sizzling-hissing sound.

Lord, Jesus.  Yeah, I'm so glad those days are over!  That said, I really miss having my hair combed by somebody else on a daily basis.  I like doing my own hair, but doesn't it just feel better when someone else does it for you?  It's the same rule as sandwiches and salads.  They just taste better for some reason when someone else makes it.

The feeling of a scalp massage -- whether by fingers, brush, or comb -- is like bliss for me.  *Begin dream sequence* Ahhhh... I'm sipping from a coconut while getting my hair combed out... on a beach... with the cool breeze blowing through my afro... in my mind, right now. *End dream sequence*

The fact that this doesn't happen often has nothing to do with the fact that I'm natural.  My kinks and coils do not get in the way, as evidenced by local massage therapists skilled in scalp massage, natural stylists, and my husband. Just last night, my husband spend about 30 minutes just talking with me while picking out my fro.  BLISS!  Baby, if you're reading this, now you know what I want for our anniversary:  pick out my fro at least once a week, every week, for the rest of our lives.  You will get mad wife credits.

I put in some SheaMoisture Curl Enhancing Smoothie.  He used this old school wooden pick with metal teeth that I swiped borrowed from my parents several years ago.  I'm telling you, this afro pick has got to be like 40-50 years old.  I think my parents used it in college.

My vintage afro pick

It was just totally off the chain good.  So yes... that's what I miss, but hopefully I'll be getting more of what I've been missing soon and often.

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