I Just Don’t Have the Gene…

I pride myself in being a woman who can do many things, most things really, and I’m usually fairly successful in anything I try to accomplish. I don’t know how much of that is talent or can be attributed to pure stubbornness and tenacity. I don’t give up on anything easily, and I’m generally able to figure things out.

This week I gave up.  Threw in the towel and said a great big screw it.

I’ve had short hair most of my life. I asked my Mom once why, and she said from the time I grew hair, I always used to run my mucky food hands through it when I ate, and she got tired of having to hose me down after each meal, so she just cut it off. Well played Mom. Well played. In pictures, my older sister had this beautiful long wavy hair and mine is just sort of this scraggly mess.

I love having short hair because it’s easy and stays out of my face. I cannot stand when hair gets in my face, it drives me nuts. I can’t think. I can’t concentrate. And I’m not talking like a whack of hair in my face, I mean just a few straggly strands that can casually brush up against my skin for the briefest of seconds.

I NOTICE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM EVERY SINGLE TIME.

I can’t help it. I’m the same when it comes to the seam on socks, and while I love the idea of wearing rings on my fingers, I can stand them for about forty-five minutes before they start to irritate me, and I have to take them off. Same with bracelets or a watch. Earrings I’m fine because they’ve literally poked a hole through my skin, and nothing is brushing up against it.

I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right but I can’t help it. One of my many quirks I suppose but the hair in my face is a huge one. Probably the biggest irritant in my life right now besides not being able to get the sewage smell out of my laundry room from when it backed up just before Christmas, and they couldn’t come and fix it until after the holidays. I don’t really want to speak of it because I’m quite traumatized over the whole thing. But back to my hair because this is my blog, and I can talk about whatever I want to talk about.

When my hair is longer like it is right now (pandemic hair), I constantly wear it up in a ponytail, or I wear a toque or a baseball hat. Anything to keep it off my face or tucked behind my ears, especially when I’m writing or at the computer working. Or watching television, or looking out the window, or pretty much doing anything. And that’s fine because you know I love wearing my toques, and have a wide assortment of styles and colours, so I’m always matching, whether I’m in my work clothes or my jammies.

But as much as I love my toques, they can get a little warm, especially when I’m wearing them while sitting by the fireplace with ten candles going. And let’s not talk about the internal heat generated when you’re a woman of a certain age, like I am. Sometimes, it’s just too much and I have to whip it off.

So put your hair in a ponytail, you say? Well, I do but – and here comes another one of my quirks – if I have my hair in a ponytail for too long, I inevitably end up with a headache or a sore neck. Don’t ask me how it happens, it just does. I don’t know the science behind it so don’t even ask me to try and prove my claims, you’ll just have to take my word for it.

Here’s a confession. It pains me to have to say this out loud because I’m a proud woman, but here it is. I was not born with the beauty gene; you know the one that gives you the innate ability to know how to braid hair or wear cute clips or even to apply make-up properly. I do not have these abilities. I wing it every single time. I do not have a skin routine or a hair routine or a toes routine. I have tried to acquire these skills over the years, but it is a futile attempt. Yet, I still try because I am a stubborn old fart, and I should be able to wear cute clips in my hair like all the other girls.

I had to order some books for work through Amazon, so while I was ordering, I thought maybe I’d browse for some “get this fucking hair out of my face once and for all” clips. I had an idea of what I was looking for because I’d seen other women wearing them, but when I went to the Amazon page I was overwhelmed and needed to take an Advil and lay down for a bit.

A bun holder? Um that looks a little bit like a doughnut to me, and even I know not to put doughnuts in my hair. Well now I know that doughnuts don’t belong in hair. Butterfly clips? Alligator clips? Tortoise claws? Straight clips, curvy clips, clips that tell your fortune if you tilt your head a certain way?

IT’S ALL TOO MUCH FOR ME!

I reached for the pair of scissors on the coffee table. I’d just cut it all off right now and then I wouldn’t even need any clips. I did it before during our lockdown, and I’ll do it again, so help me God. I took a deep breath and gently laid the scissors back on the table. Today would not be that day. I was going to pick out some clips, and I was going to put them in my hair, and that was that.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I returned to the Amazon page and focused my attention on clips for thick hair. Thick hair when it’s short is a blessing, it means you can get it to do all sorts of different things, like look stylishly messy – that was my favorite look. Thick hair, when it’s long and you have no clue how to style it, is a nightmare, at least for me. And as I’ve gotten older, for some inexplicable reason, it’s exploded into a muck of waves and half-assed curls that have no rhyme or reason. And if I don’t dry it, which let’s be honest is most days, I leave the house looking like “Humid Monica” from the television show “Friends”. People stare and try not to point but they do, I see them. It’s okay though, I’m not offended. I just nod my head and say, “Yes, I know! I didn’t get the gene okay?”

I clicked “Add to Cart” for a four pack of “Thick Hair Magic Claws”. I had to make sure none of them were pink or full of glitter or made it look like I was attempting to make a bold beauty statement because I am most certainly not. On the wings of Amazon angels, and my guy, Kevin the UPS driver, my “Thick Hair Magic Claws” were at my front door when I returned home from work the next day.

I was a little apprehensive about opening the box. You know how sometimes when you order stuff, you’re so excited to rip it open and check it out? Yeah, that was not me this time. This time, it was like getting a birthday present from that relative that you love because they’re your relative, but you’re scared shitless about what’s inside because you know you’re going to have to either wear it or display it every time you see them FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY.

If I smoked, I definitely would have lit a cigarette, but since I don’t, I improvised by pouring a splash of milk into a shot glass and downing it in one go.

“Pour me another barkeep.”

Four shots later, I was milk drunk enough to muster the courage to draw my knife and slit that box open, top to bottom in one fell swoop.

“Jesus, Mary, Joseph, what have I unleashed on this pure, beauty-virgin soul of mine!”

There must have been a mix-up because Amazon sent me four weapons that could certain maim a mid-sized animal, perhaps even a lynx or a red fox if I could catch them.

“These are claws!”

Imagine me thinking that the “Thick Hair Magic Claws” I ordered would actually be claws. And now, somehow, I was supposed to figure out how to put them in my hair without inadvertently poking a hole though my ear or puncturing my skull. Those springs had some serious force. I’m a pretty strong woman but the website should have noted that using these hair claws was clearly a two-person job.

“THERE ARE NO INSTRUCTIONS! THERE IS NOT EVEN A YOUTUBE VIDEO!”

My heart began to race, and I could feel the perspiration dampening my hair. It took every ounce of gumption to not chuck those four instruments of evil back into the box, and seal them up forever. They frightened me, especially “The Gold One”. It had this weird shimmer to it. And it just kept flickering in the corner of my eye – like it was mocking me. I threw my toque over top of it.

“Back off! You don’t know me! You don’t know my struggles! I WASN’T BORN WITH THE BEAUTY GENE OKAY!

By now, I was close to tears. Despondent. And because my anxiety has caused me to sweat, my hair was now STICKING to my face. I had to act fast before I lost all nerve. I took the silver claw in my left hand and slowly brought it to the clump of hair in my right.

SNAP!

Shit. I missed.

SNAP!

SHIT! I missed again!

Perhaps I needed to put on my glasses. Yes, that will help me see the back of my head, of course it will! I switched hands. My right hand is a little stronger, so better able to wrestle the claw into place. Sucking courage from the deepest depths of the deepest depth of my body, I massaged the claw overtop of the clump of hair and released.

SNAP!

Nailed it! Like it was ever even an issue. Feeling all smug and foxy, I got off the chair and strutted around the room. With each hip sway swagger, strands of hair fought back against their imprisonment, escaping to promptly brush the side of my cheek. I could hear them laughing. Taunting me. Ridiculing me.

I battled that claw for better near two hours, trying to figure out, not only how to get it in place, but keep it in place. It was no use. I set it on the table and went to bed, exhausted, my spirit drained of all happiness I’d gained from successfully executing a facial clay mask the week before. At least that came with instructions.

It was two days and an infinite number of affirmation recitations, before I had the energy to resume my battle. This time, I would succeed. A change in tactics would be necessary of course, because all battle-worn commanders know that to try the same approach would just be walking into a death trap. It’s the sign of true leader. I was going to lull them into such a state of self-assuredness that when I made my move, they wouldn’t know what hit them. And to make it even sweeter, I focused on my arch nemesis – “The Gold One”.

“Well, hello my little golden ray of sunshine! How are you doing this evening? You look so radiant with your shimmers of gold reflecting off your specks of inexpensive paint. Come my child, come let me hold you.”

(Just an aside. My mom also told me I was born with a slight flair for the dramatic. I love her, but seriously? Totally off the wall observation on her part wouldn’t you agree?)

The Gold One felt at peace in the palm of my hand. I could feel her relax, and as I slowly wrapped my fingers around her spine, I sang a sweet lullaby. She was mine.

In fifteen sweet minutes (I had a little trouble still), the deed was done, and The Gold One was safely holding down my clump of strategically gathered hair. My face was free! I could breathe again! I tiptoed to the washroom to take a peek in the mirror at my new beauty look.

I looked like Legolas the Elf, from Lord of the Rings. Seriously. All that trouble and all that anxiety and I end up looking like a fantasy creature that lives in a treehouse and walks weightless across the snow. Wait, I kind of like the weightless part. I’ll go outside now, try it out, and let you know…

(Goes outside and immediately falls through the fresh snow on the front lawn.)

Damnit, that didn’t work, and I probably should have put on shoes. I wore The Gold One for approximately 58 minutes before she decided she’d rather rappel down the length of my hair and end up wedged in the back of the couch. I tried again the next night and got it up to 67 minutes before I lost her down the back of the toilet. Such is life, I guess.

I mean I tried right? I gave it my best shot! I really did! But when you just don’t have the beauty gene, you just don’t have the beauty gene, and there’s not a darn thing I can do about it. I’m at peace with it. I have nice teeth, so I’ve got that going for me, and thankfully oral care is a different gene all together. I am an expert flosser and brusher and The Gold One can never take that away from me. NEVER.

As I sit here writing, I could try and describe what my ponytail looks like right now, but it’s probably best I don’t. Just trust me on that. There are no words, but a vision of broccoli does come to mind. A friend suggested maybe I try threading my eyebrows or attaching fake eyelashes to give myself a little more voluptuousness. I politely declined. I’d like to make it out of this pandemic alive thank you very much.

Next week: Why I sometimes have to put tissues behind my ears…

Peace and love,

Trish