My experiences with hair have been up and down. Some of my most memorable experiences deal with me running through the house trying to escape the Hot King Comb--you may know it as the "pressing comb." I wonder why my mom was so determined to get them naps out that she would chase me all through the house, by "chase" I actually mean yell from her chair that she's not gonna chase me and I better get back here NOW. Because I would create such a scene whenever she brought out the Hot King Comb, she ended up taking me to the hair salon. I was about six years old when I got my first relaxer.
Now I don't know what kind of life crisis I'm going through--actually I do but I just don't wanna share it with y'all--but sometime during this summer I realized that I have no idea what my un-relaxed hair looks like. And frankly, I think that's kinda sad...pathetic even. So I'm stripping my hair of the heat and the chemicals. I'm writing this down, so that there is proof that I decided to do this. Therefore, I can be held accountable for my actions by my smart-mouthed friends who will undoubtedly taunt me, if I ever try to succumb to the creamy crack. Hopefully my hair turns out to look as fly as the sista in the photo. I don't know why I just said "sista."
love always,
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