The Curmudgeon Speaks: Our Crowning Glory: Having a Bad Hair Day

By Pamela Beers

My mother always told me that our hair is our crowning glory. It should always be styled to complement the shape of our face as well as our personality. And of course, hair should always be clean and shiny. She also said that you should never go out of the house without clean underwear in case you are in an accident and have to go to the hospital. Well, I was thinking about those words of wisdom from Mom today, and decided I have a real problem. 

I woke up this morning, looked in the mirror, and started laughing. My very short hair-do is in the process of growing out. It was sticking straight up and sprouting in several directions. Add that to the fact my eyes were at half-mast and my breath reminiscent of Godzilla on a garlic binge, giving a picture of curmudgeonly charm that would appall the most loving mother. To make matters worse, we just moved so I couldn't find any clean underwear, as I frantically searched for the box in which my clean Fruit of the Looms were packed.

It seems like yesterday that I had my hair cut and styled. In looking back, it was actually February. My how time flies . . . along with my hair. What happened? My hair looked great yesterday. Something happens to a person's hair overnight. I just woke up and my hair grew . . . in four different directions. Even after a wash and liberal amounts of hair spray, my tresses still wouldn't cooperate. Oh great, at the moment it's going in six different directions, only now it's stiff. At least I found the box with clean underwear.

Running out of the house with briefcase in hand, I didn't want to be late for school. As I was driving along the expressway, I caught a glimpse of my hair in the rear view mirror. The wind from the partially open window re-styled my coif into yet another
direction . . . and it wasn't a pretty sight.

When I entered school, our secretary looked at me with a smirk. Being in a hurry, I didn't think too much of it. I walked briskly to my classroom where I prepared for the day, looking forward to the bright shiny faces soon to enter the room. When my second grade students arrived for the day, they entered the classroom, giving me a curious look. They kept glancing over at me, of and on, most of the day. One brave boy actually got up enough nerve to tell me that yesterday I looked a lot younger. He said, "I think it's your hair." Love those kids and their honesty.

As soon as I got home from school I called my daughter, who is also my hair stylist, and made an appointment for a cut and color. No more bad hair days for me . . . at least not for awhile. My hair is clean and shiny with a flattering cut and color, and I've finally found all my clean underwear. At least until the next move. My mother will be proud.