Then there was the time

…a few years back when I realized that I couldn’t control anything in my life. BUT I COULD! So I went to the hair salon and asked the hairdresser to cut off all of my hair. She refused until I threatened to go to another hairdresser in the same salon.

It was 8 pm on a Friday evening and my hair was halfway down my back. I requested she cut it up to the ends of my ears.

The hell I didn’t control anything. See that! I control the length of my hair, hah.

So she cut it off and the next morning
I woke up
Looked in the mirror
And started crying.

“Can you make my hair grow faster, please?”

I walked around in a daze for a week. I hated my hair. I looked like a bobble head with a swollen mouth. My head was too large for my body and people kept poking at me. This I now understand was because they thought I would tip over if they poked just so. I never did tip over, though.

I called around to all of the hair salons asking if they could give me extensions. No one did and one salon finally gave me the name of one location who could do this for me.

I drove to Mama Cee
Parked my car
Didn’t look at the windows
And walked in.

A beautiful woman approached me much like one would approach a mentally challenged six year old.

“Uhm, can I help you, honey?”
“Yes. I AM IN NEED OF HAIR EXTENSIONS!”
“Hair extensions?”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“Yes. I decided to cut off all of my hair a few days ago and only because I couldn’t control anything but didn’t want to dye it because that would ruin it so I decided to cut it and now I can’t believe I cut it and I hate the way I look. And my hair’s really curly. See. And I don’t like it. Can you glue hair extensions to me?”

Everyone including clientele and hairdressers were staring at me. Not one snip or blow-dry could be heard. I looked over, waved and said hello to all of the beautiful black women.

I was the only “whitie” there.

“Well. But your hair will grow back.”
“Yes.”
“And it would take hours for me to give you hair extensions. We do it hair by hair and we burn each new hair to the older hair.”
“Yes, okay.”
“And it will cost you around $600. But, shug, your hair will grow back on it’s own.”
“What?”
“And we don’t usually do it to white girls…because your hair GROWS, shugah.”
“I don’t understand…”
“Look sweetheart, I don’t want to insult you or anything, but take a look around. Don’t be shy.”

As already mentioned, I was the only “whitie” in the store. All of the beautiful faces on the walls were of beautiful black women and men. All of the hair extensions had images of pretty black ladies.

“Maybe you want a wig?”
“No. I wanted extensions.”
“I really would advise against it, baby.”
“Oh, ok. Is there a cream I can buy to make my hair grow faster?”
“Not for your head, doll.”
“Oh.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Ok. Bye, then.”
“Maybe I’ll come back another time when you’re not so busy.”
“Sure thing…”
“Okay.”

I sat in my car and stared at the salon, wondering how I could convince them to do my white head. Nothing came to mind.

When I told this story to my girlfriend, S, who is a black woman, she started laughing the moment I mentioned the name of the salon.

“You didn’t know that was a salon for black girls?”
“No.”
“BUT THE NAME IS SO OBVIOUS, AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!! I can’t BELIEVE you went in there, AHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!”
“Nice.”
“Maha. The name. May as well. Have been: Laticia Kamora Ahmed.”
“Whatever. I don’t think that when Britney gets her hair extensions, pretty black ladies laugh at her.”
“AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!! They were probably talking about the whitie that came in for the rest of the month. AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!!”
“I’m not *white*.”
“Oh, yes you are.”
“No…I’m more pink. Like an olive.”
“Olives aren’t pink.”
“They can be, when they’re from the Middle East.”