For those of you who have never met me - or haven’t bothered to peruse my profile page (shame on you!) – I have very long, very thick, and very curly hair with which I have a serious love-hate relationship. On the one hand, I love the fact that my hair is awesome and makes me stand out and look unique. But on the other hand, curly hair is a mission to handle, expensive to maintain, and an all round pain.
The trick to dealing with curly hair is learning what works best for you, and one thing that I find definitely helps tame my locks is making sure that they are trimmed on a regular basis. In East London this was no problem, but when I moved to Cape Town I was shocked to discover how much hairdressers expected me to pay for them to simply snip 2cm of hair off my head!
Luckily, I have amazing taste in friends and when fellow curly-haired Camilla heard my cries of woe, she selflessly offered to cut my hair for me free of charge! (Ok, so it was actually in exchange for a drink, but let’s not split hairs.) The first time Cam cut my hair, it was in her flat and the whole procedure went off without a hitch. And so last week, when I felt that it was time for another trim, I didn’t even hesitate to ask my super-talented friend if she’d be willing to once again offer me her services. Little did I know that things would not go quite as smoothly as before!
Now before you all start jumping to conclusions, the hair-cutting itself did not pose any problems. In fact, Cam sheared my locks so expertly that I have a sneaking suspicion that she has other hidden talents that I don’t know about! No, the issue arose when it came to disposing of the cut hair. Luckily, we’d had the fore-sight to put down a towel before hand, however I had no clue how to rid the towel of my hair without spreading it all over my flat in the process. So Cam suggests that I throw it out the window and I, without a moment’s hesitation, did exactly that.
The morning passed without either of us giving my discarded locks a second thought, until the moment came when I decided to stick my head out of my window so as to soak up a bit of sun. And then I looked down and, lo and behold, there sat my shorn tresses in a great big pile ... a pile that had landed on top of my neighbours’ very shiny and very new baby blue Vespa! Oh yes, the great big mound of curly awesomeness shone in the sun whilst it lay perched atop the motorbike like some kind of hairy crown.
Obviously I couldn’t leave my hair there – what if my outraged neighbours found it and used it in some kind of weird voodoo ritual? No, it was clear that it had to be got rid of. And so, armed with a dish-towel and a giggling partner in crime, I made my way downstairs and out to the garden only to discover that my neighbours were home. The newly-christened Vespa was parked outside an open window and it was obvious that I would be spotted. And so I did what any sane person would do... I got on my hands and knees and leopard-crawled my way to the Vespa with the sounds of Camilla’s laughter in the background. After a few minutes of frantic wiping of the motorbike, I grabbed the offending chunk of hair and quickly made my way back in the same manner in which I had come.
So what can we learn from this experience? 1) Always look out of the window before chucking out your cut hair. 2) Cam is a noisy sidekick. And 3) Curly hair is a MISSION.