27 September 2007

No dreadlocks

Its a strange ritual I know; open the door, drop my bag, take of my shoes make a bee-line for the mirror, give myself a once over, (check out my butt), remove every piece of jewelry I am wearing, change from my 'street' clothes to my 'house' clothes, let out a sigh of relief. I think I picked it up from Princess (the ritual) except the checking out my butt part, I don't know where that came from ... anyway yesterday instead of checking out my butt, I moved closer to the mirror and inspected my hair. As I parted and prodded the mass on my head I realised I would need to comb it soon else I would once again be growing dreads. Sigh. I don't like combing my hair. Its interesting though this antipathy I have developed towards my combs. Here is somebody who up to like 3 yrs ago always either had her hair in a pony tail or in a straight bob because she couldn't stand to have a hair out of place. I always had a brush and a comb in my bag to quickly restore order to my hair in the event that a powerful wind might cause the odd strand to stick out. Now see me going weeks without even running my fingers through my hair. As I noted with satisfaction that my hair had grown like a half inch since I colored it I decided to not postpone the evil day. I step back and in the corner of my eye, I catch my comb leering at me from its perch in my shower caddy. I turned and gave it my best 'I ain't afraid of you' look. It stares back at me defiantly, 'I am the boss of you' it seems to be saying. 'We will see about that, see you tomorrow' I say as I turn out the lights and make for the kitchen, all that muscle flexing has only served to accentuate the hunger pangs I had been feeling since I left the office. I skip the rest of my ritual and and fall upon the 2 slices of pizza in the fridge that I had promised myself I would throw away.

I woke up this morning a little feverish. 'adefunke! adefunke!! adefunke!!!' 'Will you stop this nonsense? All this demo because you have to comb your hair? Come on!' This is the conservative/practical side of me ranting, the one that likes to blend in, preferably fade into the background whose uniform consists of flat shoes, hemlines no higher than 3 inches below the knees, baggy jeans, guys shirts, hair relaxed (or natural) in a ponytail. The fashionable/impractical side of me (the one that made me buy the 4 1/2 inch platforms and all that eye makeup at M.A.C) kept flashing a pix of Gary Dourdan before my eyes, 'Your hair looks just like this, isn't this nice? Don't spoil the look by combing your hair' It kept urging me. 'If you comb your hair without a trim you will look like an S.U besides, its cold, do you really want to spend all that time in the bathroom untangling your hair? You will freeze and catch something for sure!' Oh Hell! I get out of bed headed straight for the bathroom and stuck my head in the shower and turned the water on. There is a very loud silence as I lather in my shampoo. I rinse and slather on loads of conditioner. There is an audible gasp as I reach for my comb. I stick it in the dense growth of hair and Ms Conservative lets out a loud cheer. Ms Fashionable lets out a loud Yoruba-esque hiss and clatters off into the corner in her 5 inch 'f%$# me' pumps. I spend the next 20 mins trying to make order of the chaos on my head, Ms Conservative is chattering away in excitement. As hard as I try I cannot avoid tugging at my hair and my scalp is smarting, I must not forget to take Tylenol. 'You do know I will not be combing this hair tomorrow right?' I ask Ms Conservative She skulks off into the other corner, Ms Fashionable lets out a triumphant grunt. Peace. I luxuriate in the shower for another 20 mins. Argh! I am running late for work. I am whipping around my apartment like a dervish, I manage to leave the house on time without forgetting anything right? Wrong! I forgot my Tylenol! Ms Fashionable is sniggering.

I saw
this on the BBC site via mochfella's blog. He thinks the men in Soweto are in trouble, I have a problem with the way the woman are gazing adoringly at the wigs

It's silly when girls sell their soul because it's in
Look at where you
be in hair weaves like Europeans
Fake nails done by Koreans
Come again
Come again, come again, come again, come again

Doo Wop (That Thing) - Lauryn Hill

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