Last night I had a dream that I went to visit my dear friend Sherrice. She’s a very honest friend, and if she saw a hair growing out of my neck, she would totally tell me. I know it. She would probably not even wait until there were fewer people around to point it out, which might make me love her a little bit less. But in my dream, the first thing she said to me when I walked in her house—after years 0f not seeing each other—was, “Jen, feel free to use my tweezers.”
I was all, HUH?
So I went into the bathroom and there, growing out of my chin, were two stray hairs. And it’s not like Sherrice spotted them because she was all eagle-eyed. No. These were long, L-O-N-G hairs. Like, two inches long and black and growing straight out, but with just a touch of curl, as though I might have not minded them so much and had even taken time to style them.
I woke up from that dream and went straight to the mirror. Nothing.
(Well, nothing more than the usual stray hairs that pop up during the night, damn them all to hell.)
It’s painfully clear that I have an obsession with my hair growth right now. Pretty much from my mid-neck up, I’m super-sensitive to any new sprouts. And so, it is time again for a check on my head’s hair growth. To review:
Hair Watch #1, Day #1 looked like this:
I believe the Latin called this “chromus domus.”
Also kinda goose-bumpy, but I don’t know how to say that in Latin.
Hair Watch #2, Day #19 looked like this:
Still side-show hideous.
Hair Watch #3, Day #25 looked like this:
Tropical Storm ‘Jen’s Hair’ was developing nicely.
Hair Watch #4, Day #32 looked like this:
So. Very. Grey.
Hair Watch #5, Day #40 looked like this:
So. Very. Sparse.
Also about the time the cat decided I needed to be groomed regularly.
That brings us up to date, and now we’re at Day #75 of my hair growth. Thirty-five days have passed since I last took pictures of my noggin, and we should expect to see a dramatic change, right? OK, a change. Maybe not dramatic, and certainly not attractive.
This picture is deceiving. It appears that my scalp is barely visible. I assure you, my scalp is definitely visible. If I were to go around hatless right now, people would question my sanity. It’s not pretty. It’s not lustrous. It’s just a teeny bit of hair, not even half an inch long, and I can’t even mess it up. I can, however, get hat-head and I gotta admit, that’s kinda cool. I’ll try to remember to take pictures of that next time.
See? Lots of scalp still. And lots of grey. Sooo not pretty.
Now, here’s the photo I really like because it shows the beginnings of some actual STYLE in my hair:
What? You don’t see it? Geez, I gotta point out everything to you, don’t I?
But next thing y’know, I’ll look like this:
Now, here’s the real pisser of seeing your hair grow from nothing. When you see your hair grow from nothing, you notice every little thing—every little grey hair, every little cowlick, every dent and bald spot and texture change and color variance and it makes you hate everything that breathes and has supermodel-like hair and suddenly it seems like EVERYONE has supermodel-like hair. Here’s what I mean; let’s take a look at the arrows that show all the directions my hair is currently growing:
I’m pretty sure this ain’t supposed to happen. I can deal with a cowlick, sure. But this craziness is more like a curse, probably related to my tear hole hairs. OH YEAH, DID YOU KNOW I HAVE TEAR HOLE HAIRS???
Ah, the old days. I miss them so. ‘Member when my hair looked good?
Alright, well maybe my four-year-old self swimming naked in the backyard and my fourth-grade bespectacled self aren’t the greatest examples of my best historical looks. But the fact is, once upon a time I had hair that didn’t grow in 49 different directions. Pfft.