in which a young woman from the seashore notes that a cat may look at a king
Friday, July 28, 2006
I haven't lined up a replacement hairstylist yet. I've contacted a couple of people, but I haven't been pursuing it as doggedly as I could, because a thought has been growing in my mind: maybe I don't truly need one. The rubberbands and hairpins necessary to create the gorgeous mass of cascading curls in both of my trials began giving me a bit of a headache, later in each afternoon. Don't want headache. Maybe a simple braid, of the front part of my hair, down the back of the rest of my hair, naturally straight, long and free-flowing, like usual. Not only shouldn't it give me a headache, but it feels more ME. The me who, normally, hardly gives much thought to hair or makeup. The braiding would still allow for putting in some flowers and attaching the veil. I think. And it's something that my mother used to do with my hair once in a while, back in the day. We could probably do it again. In fact, that might be kind of neat.