You're so vain

I am. Really. I wasn’t always this way. Up until my early teen years, I was convinced I was a tomboy. All I thought about was riding my bike with the neighborhood guys. I guess I almost always enjoy the company of guys over girls. They are easier to be around. Less judgmental and more funny. When they aren’t trying to hump you that is. Being dirty and smelly from climbing around the Amarillo sewer drains under the town never really bothered me. I wore jeans everyday and had my ratty perm (thanks Dad) in a ponytail.

There is further proof in the slip ‘n slide incident. My Mom took me out and bought me a brand new dress for Sunday school when I was about six. It was pretty, I liked the dress, with white and yellow frilly parts. I did enjoy the feeling of girly things, but the tomboy inside me got over it quickly and I went out to play while my parents got ready for church. It just so happened that at 9am on that Sunday morning, my little buddies who had heathen parents (like me now) already had their slip ‘n slide set up. There isn’t much that feels better than a cold, wet dive in on the yellow tarp on a hot summer day, when you weight less than 40 pounds that is. I couldn’t resist and it really never occurred to me that it mattered that I was wearing a dress. I think it broke my Dad’s heart a little to give me that spanking.

In trying to find the point in my life where I switched to caring about my appearance, I decided I really blame my brother. When I was 12, he was 7 and I was usually in charge of him. Latchkey kids for sure. One day as I was lounging on the couch avoiding my homework and watching after school crap TV, I made a huge mistake. I fell asleep. When I initially woke up, I knew it was because my brother was messing with me. I jumped up swatting at my face and initially I was confused. There he was with a smile on his face, a pair of scissors in one hand and a handful of hair in the other. Once I connected the dots and my sleepy fog had cleared, I screamed and ran to the bathroom. Oh yeah. While I dozed, He had cut a handful of my hair almost to the scalp. This is when I realized I did care about my appearance. I never had to put to much effort into being comfortable with it before that. After 2 months of beng mortified and covering with serious headbands right on the forehead, I learned to live with bangs. I still hate bangs. Stupid bangs. Usually when I see someone trying to be trendy with the ultra short page girl bangs – I groan internally. I’m sure I am jealous that it was a choice for her and not an “incident”.

Hair defines a woman. Some don’t know it and some won’t admit it, but it is the truth. All of the incidents in my life that have brought my vanity into focus were related to hair. This last March I had a horrible incident occur to my mane. I won’t bore you with all the details, but the short version is that I had tried being a red head for a while. It was fun, but I was ready to go back to blonde. Hair girl (nice version of her name) did not explain to me that it’s better to do this gradually and instead colored my hair 6 times in one day. I left with my hair totally fried and a little purple. We tried to repair it, I went to someone else and eventually had to cut my hair short. I hate it. I don’t feel like me. It has been short since April. You can tell me how becoming you think it is and try to make me feel better, but it is useless. I’m too vain and I will never like it this way. I need vanity counseling.

But tears over hair, really? What kind of tomboy am I? Please! “It is only hair, it will grow back.” I really want to punch the person who made up that saying. It must have been a guy. A guy with a smile on his face, scissors in one hand and a handful of hair in the other.