People like to complain about having a bad hair day. I'd like to tell you I have had a bad hair life. My mother defends the tangled mass evident in every childhood photo by saying I didn't like to have my hair brushed. Her solution..whack it off to right above the ears. If I had normal hair this wouldn't matter but I have thick hair. The end result is that I spent my entire childhood looking like a walking blond mushroom. Did I mention my thick hair is also curly. Not Shirley Temple ringlet curly. Wavy curly. The kind of curl that takes one side of your hair and lifts it out six inches where it just sits there not blowing in the wind. Unfortunately Flock of Seaguls was unheard of at this time so my hair wasn't even cool when it did the sticky outy thing.
One summer while living with my grandparents they bought a trampoline for the backyard. I spent endless hours jumping and sit bouncing in my swimdress until one day I had to retrieve something under the trampoline. It's all fun and games until someone gets their hair stuck in the springs. I'm not sure how long I stood there screaming "GRANDMOMMEEEEEEE!" but it sure felt like an eternity.
Shortly after starting junior high it became very apparent that I was not cool. I didn't dress cool, I didn't talk cool, no one cool wanted to be anywhere near me. To add insult to injury I wasn't all that interested in studying so even the smart kids steered clear of me. In an attempt to raise my cool factor I decided to get wings. There isn't a Goodie comb big enough for the wings I ended up with. A can of hairspray a day wouldn't make them stick. The next morning I just could not get the wings to flip back. My father ended up spending forty minutes curly them with a curling iron and getting them to semi-stick.
Now that I am an adult the hair doesn't bother me so much but I still want to rip it out every time my arms fall asleep from holding them over my head blow drying for forty five minutes. If you have thin hair and always wanted thick hair a word of caution... one wrong move with the scissors and you too could be a walking mushroom.

In less than a month I will be going to Mexico with my father. What am I looking forward to on this trip? The sand, the sea, the obnoxious quantities of margaritas I will surely have to consume? No, sadly it is the stories of his second wife that he loves to tell when he consumes even a smidgen of alcohol. You see she wasn't just your normal stepmother. She was grade A crazy! My father plucked her from Podunk, Louisiana after her parents begged him to marry her. The day she left they must have thrown a coon roast for the whole county!
The trouble started when my father began traveling for his job. He would leave for weeks at a time which apparently left her to dream up ways she could destroy their marriage and cause herself some bodily harm at the same time. Now, I am pretty close to my father and if I ever need his attention I simply yell "Dad". Glenda had a better way. When she needed his attention she would run full force into the wall leaving a perfectly round head hole in the sheet rock. My current stepmother, bless her heart, hung an antique bed warmer over the hole and hid her jewelry in the wall. A homemade safe of sorts. Glenda was also insanely jealous of my relationship with my father. I can see why since we only got to see each other every other weekend and select holidays as dictated by the divorce decree. For my part I wasn't too fond of her and immediately after the wedding set about making my every other weekend at their house a living hell. For her not me. When their new house was nearing completion my father in an attempt to include me in the process said I could pick out the patio furniture. Seriously this was supposed to make me feel better for the stepwitch painting my room peach. I hate peach! She hated lime green. Boy did that lime green furniture look good on the patio though. So, Glenda if you are out there and have moved past your third grade education so are able to read this- thanks for the memories. I'll be sure to raise a margarita in your honor.