Last week, I went out for Indian food with a friend. During the course of dinner, said friend stared at me curiously and persistently. Because I have a gap, I tried to discreetly check for unsightly food items stuck in my teeth. Yet the staring continued. Because I have the canyon sized nostrils from dad's side of the family, I tried to (discreetly again) dislodge any unwanted visitors. Still, he stared. While he did the North -South stare (because face it, I know the occasion for the southern stare), I couldn't figure out what was going on up North. My eyes weren't red, my eyebrows weren't dyed invisible like normal. Could he be awed by my beauty?
The answer came after dinner. He took in my aura and leaned in close. I held my breath, closed my eyes, and waited with puckered lips in anticipation. Much to my surprise, ten appendages invaded my curly, bus
hy afro (northern hemisphere, thank you) and proceeded to vigorously massage my scalp!
hy afro (northern hemisphere, thank you) and proceeded to vigorously massage my scalp! As Lil' Jon would say: WHAT?
Someone did not get the memo about Black women and their hair. How lucky he is to have surivived the invasion with both life and limb. That was last week and today is a new day. This morning, I went to the salon for a press and curl. My hair is bouncy, shiny and straight and I feel like I've re-discovered an old friend. My smile is bigger, my step is higher and I love, love, love the sensation of curls tingling the back of my neck. I like being natural, but I miss my permed hair. Theoretically, someone could run their fingers through my hair without risking loss of a finger or thumb.
One (natural) friend so eloquently surmised: The creamy crack habit (of a fresh perm) is a hard habit to break for some sista's out there. Well, I guess I'm on step 2 of the 12 step program.
Today, it was nice to look like the woman I've been all my adult life. 
