Wild Irish Hair

Bad Hair Days exist; there's no denying it.  Many females have spent countless hours trying to quell their rebellious locks on any given day, particularly rainy ones.  I, however, happen to have the unruly, wild Irish hair, and so, am better-acquainted with Bad Hair Days than most, as 94.8% of days are Bad Hair Days for me.  I'm not scared, and I no longer fight it.   I've learned to live with the wild hair.  But it wasn't always so.

In my younger, teenage years, I tried to tame the thick, wavy locks by using such tricks as putting my hair up on orange juice cans (I'm sure that looked other worldly!), and even ironing my hair on the ironing board with my mother's iron (you put a towel on top so as not to catch your hair on fire!).  At one point, I tried a product called Curl Free which did not uncurl my hair in the slightest nor rid me of the waves --the product just made my hair greasy (I was a Greaser!).  Nothing made much difference -- my hair went in where it was supposed to go out, and out where it was supposed to go in...as usual.

My brothers used to joke my hair style should be called "wind-blown."  They would sometimes put their hands in my hair and stir it up (the way only brothers can!), and laugh because it looked the same.  While doing a show at the theatre (Sleeping Beauty) in which I played Trollarina, a naughty fairy, the theatre hairdresser decided for the show to rat my hair out, all over, as far as it could go.  I explained ratting it wouldn't matter as it would look normal again in a short time. The hair dresser just grunted at my naivete. During Dress Rehearsal, the hair dresser ratted my hair, and by intermission, most of the rats had disappeared (just as when St. Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland) and  I again sported my normal wind-blown do.  Surprised, the hair dresser promised bringing in a super weapon, Extra-Hold Rave, the following night for combat with the wild Irish hair.

Several years ago, my daughter, in an attempt to help me subdue my hair, showed me a product she uses that supposedly perfects curls and banishes frizz.  I found it helped immensely on days when I was running behind and headed to school.  I'd jump out of the shower, spritz my unruly wet locks, and dress quickly before running out the door.  I used my secret time shortcut.  I'd turn the heater on in my car as I drove to work, roll down the window, and as I was driving, hang my head out the window, rather like a dog, to get my hair mostly dry before I arrived at school.  Then I would just stir my hair up with my fingers! Voila!  Poodle hair!

I've rather gotten used to my uncontrollable, wild Irish hair.  My hair does what it wants to do and no one can order it not to do so, although I think a good hair cut by an excellent stylist makes all the difference in the world. Several weeks ago, as I was heading out the door to go to work, my son's fiancee stopped me.  "Cindy, your hair has some major dents in the back you need to fix before going to work."

Faith and Begorrah!  The view in the mirror was astonishingly wicked.  I should have known that I can't shower and expect my hair to look good in the morning, even if I do dry it before bedtime.  Despite the fact I had used my heated curling brush on it, my hair stuck out in multiple directions with major dents in the back.  I should know my hair's surly attitude by this time.  That's why I usually shower in the morning if I want to have any chance at looking presentable.

So, when others are complaining about frizz and such, I can just smile.  Weather doesn't make my hair any worse.  Let the winds blow.  Let the rains come.  My hair is dependable, and unaffected by weather or any hair dressing instrument.  It has the courage to stand up for what it believes, defying all who attempt to control it.  Perhaps it does belong on the head of the person who's kissed the Blarney Stone one too many times.  May your Bad Hair Days grow fewer and far between.

Dear Dog-Loving Dog Walker,

I know you love your dog, and I know you care enough to walk your dog so not only can you two have bonding time, but also some exercise time.  As an animal lover and former dog owner, I tried to be considerate; you are not.  Yes, dogs poop; everybody poops. I, HOWEVER, DO NOT WANT YOUR DOG POOP IN MY YARD.

I do not want to step in dog poop when I walk to my mailbox.  I do not want to step in your dog's poop when I am working in my yard.  I do not want my company to step in your dog's poop while they are visiting me or while we are sitting outside on a pleasant summer evening.   I do not even want to smell your dog's poop.

Maybe you don't realize it, but there is nothing more disgusting than stepping in dog poop. It  squishes up around the edges of your shoe, gluing itself to all the crevices in the sole, and the stench can easily gag you.  Cleaning the shoe is difficult and the odor lingers.  If you are in a hurry, focused on something else, and have stepped in dog dung unknowingly, it can also smear across your car's floor mats or even the carpet in your house before you make the grisly discovery. 

So, dear Doggy Lover, if you weren't selfish and obtuse, and if you really cared about other people, you would not walk your dog past anyone's house, allowing it to take a dumper in someone else's yard.  If you have no control, walk your dog in your own yard.  (By the way, you can train a dog to take a dumper in a specific area of your property, and yes, you could walk your dog after he pooped so he hopefully wouldn't need to go again on the walk, but for whatever reasons, you choose not to do so. Here's a novel idea -- you could even scoop it up, like responsible dog owners in NYC do.)  Perhaps, though, you blatantly hope your dog poops somewhere else other than your own yard.  Maybe you're just unthinking. Whatever the thinking, or non-thinking, stop the dumping in someone else's yard unless you're armed with a pooper-scooper and use it.

I think it's only fair to invite all the property owners who have your dog's poop in their yards to scoop it up and dump it back in your yard.  Or perhaps we should all just go to your yard and poop all over your property for you to step in it and smell it so you would understand how we feel.