Jerry Seinfeld had a set where he talked about how amazed he was with women and how they control all the hair on their bodies. It is no easy feat, that’s for sure.
Today I want to talk about HAIR.
This word can conjure up beautiful pictures or make one want to toss their cookies, depending on how it’s used. Sometimes all it takes is adding an s to the end. The word hair is one of those words that can be singular or plural. There is usually no need to say hairs. Yet hairs surprisingly means very few.
You would never say: My hairs are turning gray.
Because if you did it would give the impression that you have five single pieces of hair that you painstakingly comb and spray into a greasy combover.
Rather you would say: Some of my hair is turning gray.
As if your luscious locks have one or two strands of glistening silver. Really we all know you’re one gray hair away from grabbing the box of Clairol from the grocery store.
Maybe I’m only speaking for myself. My hair started to turn gray in my 20’s. I thought it looked kind of cool. One or two random strands of white or silver nestled in with my dark chocolate locks. Now I have so much gray I can’t hide it any more and I’m afraid to pluck any more of it for fear I will be bald in a week. My brother’s black hair now has a salt and pepper look to it. He’s only 3.5 years older than me!
I think I’ve seen one or two colorless hairs in Heath’s head but he has blond hair. He can get away with it.
Isn’t it funny how the word hairs can make you feel sick to your stomach? Maybe I’m only speaking for myself. I just think it’s a gross word. Hairs. *shudder*
My hair has always been fine in texture but I have always had a lot of it. Until now. Well, I’m assuming anyway that I don’t have a lot anymore. I keep finding hair everywhere. They say a person loses 100 hairs a day. Fine. But most people don’t see stray strands in the kitchen sink. Or worse, in the dishwasher!
When I go to put the dishes away after the dishwasher did all the dirty work for me I see this long piece of hair curled up on some plate. I try to peel it off but it’s hard because it’s wet. And I have to wonder when the hair entered the dishwasher. Did it fall in as I loaded the dirty dishes? And then it swirled around and around dancing among the dishes, weaving its way through the fork tines? Or did it happen to fall on a still moist plate when I was unloading clean dishes and all the dishes are fine except that one plate?
Quite the dilemma, right? Should I rewash everything or just the one plate?
My hands are always full of little pieces of hair when I comb the kids hair. Especially Gwen. Her hair has been scattered everywhere in the house since she came home from the hospital. She’s my daughter alright. OK, so kid hair clinging to my hands and fingers after their morning do makes sense. And my hair all over my comb makes sense too.
But what about the handfuls that come out in the shower? I’m not making this up. I wash my hair and my hands are covered in long black hairballs. My bathroom floor is covered in a carpet of hair. I sweep and the dust pan is full of dusty hairballs.
Our bathroom is big enough that we need two rugs. One in front of the shower and one in front of the sink. Before the dual rug action I would finish my morning routine and don my high heeled sandals for church. Then I would take the shoes off so I could wipe off fistfuls of hair from my feet. Are we sure it’s only 100 hairs a day?
I know it’s not just me. Someone else in the world has this problem. In junior high I took my lunch tray to my table to enjoy eating with my friends. I was pretty excited because that day the cafeteria was serving pink ambrosia salad. I took a few bites here and there of whatever else I got that day and then decided to dig into the salad. I took not one, not two, but at least three separate bites of this salad before I noticed the rat’s nest of a hairball calmly sitting underneath my next bite.
There was so much hair wadded up I seriously had to wonder if someone actually cleaned out their hairbrush in the salad. Did they do it on purpose? Or were they blissfully unaware of their blossoming case of alopecia? Didn’t matter. I didn’t ask nor did I eat another bite of anything that day.
Hair is disgusting.
Men can be in awe of women and their ability to control all their hair. But the reality is that hair is gross. Combing, shaving, bleaching, etc. Hair takes up a lot of our time and can take over our lives. I have nightmares that my hair will unite into a thick rope and strangle me in my sleep. It could happen.