It's a Girl Thing
In the late 60's James Rado, Gerome Ragni and Galt MacDermot came out with the musical Hair. I never saw the play, only the movie version with Treat Williams and while the play was about more than hair, it did bring up a valid point. Men don't really care about their hair. "Let it fly in the breeze and get caught in the trees, give a home to the fleas in my hair."
We do care about our kid's hair, however, which is always an unruly mess. In high school my shaggy hair fell below my shoulders and was thicker than the lead singer of an 80's rock band. I brushed it, sometimes. Now my hair is black and gray, leaning heavy toward the gray, except for the part that's missing altogether, which is why I don't like pictures from behind or above. I still brush it, or not really. It's more like running my fingers through it or trying to force it to lay flat. I don't care anymore. I wake up some mornings looking like Grandpa Munster and that's how I stay until I shower for work or dinner, whichever comes first.
No, hair is not a serious issue for men unless you're what is called a metrosexual, which really is a whole other post. I've known guys who blow dry their short hair and then put chemicals in it to keep it in place. Of course, these are the same men that use body butter, which really creeps me out. Butter is for toast and pancakes, not my body.
Hair is a girl thing, like totally. What's more, it's a major girl thing. They'll spend hours washing, blow drying and flat ironing it just to turn around and use a curling iron on it. It's pointless to argue the logic of flattening curly hair in order to curl it. This is the same gender that has no issue announcing that their cramping and about to start their "girlie" while yelling at us if flatulence warms the sheets.
"I can't help it. It's a natural body function."
"Yes, you can. It's gross."
"Stop your period then. It's worse."
"I have stopped my period before. The result just graduated high school."
So, we don't argue logically; we just give in. It will never make sense, and yet, that's what we love about them. Of course, what I have noticed is that none of them are ever happy with the color or style of hair they were born with. I bet if we added up the money spent on hair color and highlights we could pay off the national debt.
"I need to go get my hair done again."
"But you just had it done. It still looks great."
"Robbie, that was four weeks ago. Look how far my roots go back."
"My scalp goes back further than that, but I'm not reaching for a black Sharpie to color in the flesh parts."
When I go to get my hair cut, I'm in and out in 20 minutes and that includes shaving my neck, trimming my eyebrows and de-furring my ears. The girls are gone for two to three hours! I made the mistake of offering to drive them once and wait on them. The seats are miserable and how many times can you flip through hair styling magazines? They don't even offer free coffee!
That would be bad enough except it doesn't end there. Their fascination with hair and other non-essentials fills every crevice of our over-sized bathroom. Seriously, my bathroom has a drawer, two huge cabinets, a couple of cubby holes and a medicine cabinet. Each nook and cranny is completely filled with make-up, hair products, feet products, nail polish, nail polish remover, stuff I'm afraid to ask about and stuff that gives me the heebie jeebies. What do I get? Half of a tiny shelf in the medicine cabinet. I used to get a whole shelf, but that was soon deemed a waste of needed space.
I know I'm griping but to be honest it doesn't really bother me. I don't require much as not too much can help this Mess that I call me. Give me deodorant, shaving cream and a place to dry out my tooth brush and I'm settled. Besides, the girls make me look good whenever we go out, which is a man thing. So, really, how could I ask for more than that?
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