"Hey, Daph, let me fix your hair for your senior picture," my sister said as she fiddled with my fuzzy mop.
"Really? I just did. I'm ready."
Let it be known that I am not, have never been, and never will be a girl that knows how to make her hair look awesome.
"Come on. I will make it look nice," she pleaded.
Now, Chris, on the other hand, always knew how to work hair. She was the hair and makeup girl in the family. Not me. Nope. Never.
"Alright. Fine," I not-so-willingly agreed.
Honestly, I was nervous. Wondering what the other kids at school would think. My hair looking styled, instead of an unkempt frizz-ball. But I figured what the heck, why not? you only live once, right?
Chris worked my hair. Styled it. Smoothed it out. Added a bit of soft curl. Parted it just right.
Made. It. Look. Good.
"Oh, I think you are going to like it. Your hair looks so pretty." She looked proud of her work.
I looked in the mirror. It did look nice. But it didn't look like me. Not the me I was used to. My hair looked too perfect. Too smooth. Too focused on.
"Sorry, Chris. But I don't want to take my picture with this hair style."
I could see I hurt her feelings.
Pictures were going to be taken within the next few hours.
I washed my hair, again. I needed to restore it to my normal fuzzy at the bottom less so at the top texture.
"O.K." my sister responded to my freshly washed and wildly dried hair. "At least you pulled the top portion back. Makes it look better."
"Yep. Now I am definitely ready to have my picture taken," I stated, firmly, as I walked out the front door.
"Really? I just did. I'm ready."
Let it be known that I am not, have never been, and never will be a girl that knows how to make her hair look awesome.
"Come on. I will make it look nice," she pleaded.
Now, Chris, on the other hand, always knew how to work hair. She was the hair and makeup girl in the family. Not me. Nope. Never.
"Alright. Fine," I not-so-willingly agreed.
Honestly, I was nervous. Wondering what the other kids at school would think. My hair looking styled, instead of an unkempt frizz-ball. But I figured what the heck, why not? you only live once, right?
Chris worked my hair. Styled it. Smoothed it out. Added a bit of soft curl. Parted it just right.
Made. It. Look. Good.
"Oh, I think you are going to like it. Your hair looks so pretty." She looked proud of her work.
I looked in the mirror. It did look nice. But it didn't look like me. Not the me I was used to. My hair looked too perfect. Too smooth. Too focused on.
"Sorry, Chris. But I don't want to take my picture with this hair style."
I could see I hurt her feelings.
Pictures were going to be taken within the next few hours.
I washed my hair, again. I needed to restore it to my normal fuzzy at the bottom less so at the top texture."O.K." my sister responded to my freshly washed and wildly dried hair. "At least you pulled the top portion back. Makes it look better."
"Yep. Now I am definitely ready to have my picture taken," I stated, firmly, as I walked out the front door.
