Hair For Your Enjoyment

Women who play with their hair drive me just a little bit crazy. I am aware this can be a nervous tic or even an insecurity. But ladies, you’re lovely just the way you are. No need to constantly be tugging, tossing and swapping your hair in my westerly direction. And take it from someone who has a lot of hair to deal with, I get it. It’s a project. And full disclosure, my hair has a mind of its own. Most of the time I feel like I’m wearing a helmet my head is lucky to be renting space from. But after a recent experience of being down wind from a woman and her shedding ponytail, I felt I needed to get a little something off my not-yet hairy, chest.

Listen gals, I feel you. I have long hair. I know with curly hair especially, you think you have to tend to it and give it this certain fondling. But I assure you, that shit is genetic. No amount of you fingering it in public or private is going to change a biological trait which preceded you by ten minutes of your mommy and daddy’s sweet, sweet lovemaking.

And if you have straight hair, the same rules apply. When you’re talking, pushing and pulling your hair, riding it like a stick shift in traffic, is distracting. Are you trying to make a point or dust off your shoulder blades?

Also, don’t comb your horsey mane in public or next to me on the bus. I don’t need your tresses getting wound up in my earphones or stuck to my velcro backpack straps. Yes, you have hair that waves in the air and you resemble both equine majesty and the lady on the cover of a romance novel. But I don’t need your business all over my business.

I cut my hair recently and got what some might call a “style”. Oddly enough, my hair now resembles my childhood mullet. The jury is still out as to whether or not this is a good look for me. (If I wear a baseball cap, I look like a big-hipped, lollipop.) After the last snip of my stylist’s shears, I sat staring amazed at the new shape of my head.  I then did something I’ve just spent the last four paragraphs kvetching about: I tried doing that thing where I ran my fingers through my hair. However, with curly hair, you don’t run through anything. Except maybe a lot of broken combs.

Just for that moment, I wanted to be the shampoo commercial girl, breezily combing her hand through her tresses. Yet, instead what happened was me diving my thumb and index finger into my crown, harshly met by dungeon doors of curls blockading my entrance. “Ye shall not pass!” (My curls holler and apparently speak in old English.) So too, I quickly ended my own bout with obnoxious hair twiddling. Simple fact is, my hair helmet moves as one immutable unit, swaying back and forth in the wind like a co-dependent school of red herring.

After being so close to almost experiencing it (let’s use a safe word like, “hair gratification”), I understood the desire to shake the feathers and coif the mane that is your crown and glory. I know, I know, it’s fun to play with your hair. (It’s also fun to play with yourself, but we don’t do that in public now, do we?) So instead, I urge you hair diddlers to spend a few hours with a bowl of cooked spaghetti on your head and see if that doesn’t serve as a bit of a habit breaker.

Come to think of it, I look at a gal like Ariana Grande and I get a headache just thinking about the work that goes into that ‘do. She’s got the three feet of ponytail hair and then her head is strung so tightly, it looks like it might pop off at the neck like a Pez dispenser. Bless her heart. That’s probably the most expensive ponytail in show business.

I think I’m digressing here. But my point is this, whatever hair ‘do you are rocking, women, know that sometimes excessive fondling can be a bit of a turn off.

Not everyone is as curmudgeonly as me. They are just sad about it. Think about all the bald people in the room who are subjected to watching your self caresses? Or the Top Sheik users who can only dream of their fingertips running along the top of their heads without getting inky. It’s like eating bread in front of someone who’s carb free. They are surely crying on the inside.

So save your coiffure masturbation for the privacy of your own home. Otherwise the next time you find yourself twiddling your tresses and you hear someone yelling, “Get a room!” They might just be talking to you.