Lost Mule Lodge

… a journey that began with a cabin in the woods

My friend was looking at me through squinted eyes – actually she was looking at my pre-teen forehead, when she asked, “You realize you have a maxi pad taped to your forehead?”  Oddly enough, she was not that surprised.  The extreme measures I took to straighten my curly hair had become her entertainment.

Until I was in 3rd grade, my hair was never something I thought about.  Hopes of swinging higher, running faster and digging that hole to China are what filled my head.  The mirror was the last thing on my 8 year old brain.

Then one day after recess my 3rd grade teacher was visibly irritated as she turned to face the class from writing on the blackboard.  She was looking right at me.  At the end of her exhausting exhale, using the chalk in her hand as a pointer, she said,

“Teresa….  could you PLEASE go to the restroom and comb THAT hair so the people behind you can see the blackboard?”

I panicked, not because of what she had said, but because anyone with curly hair knows that a comb is not going to tame it.  I slinked into the restroom and took a long look in the mirror.  It was bad.  Really bad.  My head looked like a tumbleweed.  Turning on the water, I did the only thing I knew that would smooth it down.  I stuck my head under the faucet.

That day I declared war on my hair.    I hated it and it hated me more.  I used an arsenal of products, oils, mousse, conditioners, sprays, straighteners, orange juice cans for rollers, razor cuts, layered cuts, blunt cuts and in an attempt to smooth my bangs I taped maxi pads to my forehead.

Few battles were won by me – my hair had a team of soldiers, rain, humidity, wind, all became part of the daily battle that lasted throughout junior high and well into my high school years.

But all that changed on a date one hot summer day.  My smoking’ hot date and I had spent a fun afternoon playing water games at the local pool – when I did the unthinkable.

I allowed my hair to get wet.  To make matters worse – my date was driving a convertible, a convertible that would expose my hair to the sun and wind.  My hair would be dry in a matter of minutes. There was no hiding.  My smoking’ hot date was going to see me in my natural state and there was nothing I could do.

The top was down the sun was blazing from high in the sky. The warm breeze was like a blow dryer.

At the first stop light he turned his head toward me as if he was going to say something.  His neck jerked back as he was taking it all in….  I had a flashback of the look my friend had back in junior high when she saw that maxi pad taped to my forehead.  I broke out in a cold sweat wondering, is he going to burst out laughing, will he just take me home, will he ever call me again?

And just before the light turned green he smiled a dazzling smile that made his blue eyes seem electric in the sunlight – he spoke the most beautiful words my ears had ever heard…

“I LOVE YOUR HAIR!”

That was it.  The war was over.  My hair had won this long fought battle.  In a single afternoon it became my crowning glory.

We drove hundreds of glorious miles in that beautiful convertible with the top down and my hair blowing free in the wind.

That date was over 47 years ago, I am blessed to wake up next to that same smoking’ hot guy every morning. And he still tells me he loves my hair.

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