For those of you too tired to click, I have bad hair. Genetically bad.
When my cousin was visiting in January, we had a breakfast of joyous discovery, sharing the trials and tribulations of what goes on atop our heads.
"Does yours start out with one side curly and one side straight and by the end of the day, they've switched?"
"Does it look great on days you're home alone?"
"Yes, and when I need to go out in public..."
On the day of my niece's wedding, she refused to leave the house until it was time to get in the car to go to the church because her hair was actually behaving for once and she didn't want to give it any excuses.
And I understood. I totally understood.
"Do you have six at the back that stand up at all times?" I asked her.
"It's like they're looking for another head to move to."
OK, so we share the same hair.
I am on an endless quest to find the product that will bring some order above my ears. I tried a new one yesterday. And I really thought I was on to something. My hair felt silky smooth.
It was mostly straight.
But I still came home with an entirely different hairstyle than the one I left the house with.
The search and the chaos continues.