Below is a snippet of my hope-to-be-published memoir, Autohairography. If you know of a publisher that’s nice and likes quirky girls, please email me!
[image credit: monsieur oiseau]
My last few years of high school flew by, specifically because I was captain of the swim team and had sold my soul to morning practices, weight lifting and boys in Speedos. And if you know anything about chlorinated hair, then you know everything about chlorinated hair. It smells, it’s dry and it sometimes turns white-ish.
Mid-season of my junior year in high school, I decided it would be fun to make a bet with my best male friend, Richard, who we promptly named Dick, who promptly named his dog Pat, which was promptly hilarious to the rest of us.
Anyway. The bet was to see just how long we could milk it without brushing OR washing our hair during winter break. I did the math, and I was quite sure I could beat him, considering he was up for winter formal king, and well, boys can be vain at times. Specifically boys nicknamed Dick.
Yet winter formal came and went, and he proudly won the title of King sporting dirty, unkept hair. It was simply disgusting.
The next day, I quit the bet, as school was fast approaching again and I would not be known as the messy, smelly-haired girl. Yet Dick continued the bet with himself (typical boy behavior, yes?) until sectionals that year. In February. And his hair fell out.
I don’t have to tell you what happened to my hair during the short-lived two weeks of non-brushing and washing. I will tell you that the result was not unlike that of a dirty sheep preparing itself for the groomers: white, tangled and in a very bad mood.
I will also tell you that the terms of the bet? We’ll just say it involved an imaginary ruler and a sudden incline in Dick’s popularity.