Scarred By My Shellacked Head, Easy Breezy Waves Are Elusive

aimee in hot rollers.jpg

AIMEE: There’s a pressing issue I’ve been avoiding for quite some time, so scarred and traumatized was I by a recent experience: what to do about my wedding day ‘do? Yes, I did, of course, go for a hair and make-up trial and it made me perfectly giddy and happy and so high off of hairspray fumes that I left feeling absolutely gorgeous. Then I got the photos developed and discovered that my hair had actually been turned into a super-shellacked head full of ultra-stiff spirals. I had just what I didn’t want: “bride hair.” (And I know you know what I’m talking about: it’s that hair that looks like you’re trying too hard.) I had told the stylist I wanted it to be red-carpet-sexy; I wanted bodacious volume; I wanted easy, breezy waves. I’d brought in so many pictures of Kate Beckinsale (my secret style icon) that I can sadly admit I had crossed over into scary, obsessed fan territory. But in the end, all of this had fallen on deaf ears. (And no, I’m not ready to show you the pictures. I have to preserve a shred of dignity.) I even had Brian weigh in: “Didn’t you put your head upside down and shake it out? Even I know you’re supposed to do that,” he said, looking at the shots. There is nothing more pathetic than getting beauty tips from the groom. But he has sisters, both of whom are much more skilled in these matters than I.

So I’m home early-ish from work, when I decide to fire up the new hot rollers I just got (but have been scared to use) and give it a try. I haven’t attempted to use hot rollers since high school and my technique, admittedly, is a little rusty. I can’t get my hair wound tightly enough and some of the rollers slide right out, like they don’t care, they’re not even trying. “Work with me!” I plead to some of them. I burn my fingers on other hostile ones. And some clumps of hair have managed to miss getting rolled up at all and now there’s no more room on my little head for a roller where it needs to go.

Brian watches, awed by my clumsiness. He thinks girls are born knowing how to do this stuff. Many are, clearly I’m not one of them. I let the rollers set (though not for as long as they should: I’m impatient) and then unleash my curls, shaking them out upside down as instructed. I size myself up in the mirror. Not bad. Definitely an improvement. The only problem: by the time I get around to taking a picture (for you, my friends) the curls, sadly, have fallen. Well, I’ll try again, maybe with some hairspray next time. Then something catches my eye. I lean in close to the mirror and it hits me like a ton of bricks. No! This can’t be – I’m a mere child. But my next project is horrifyingly clear — find a solution for the hideous grays that have sprung up due to stressful wedding planning!

Scarred By My Shellacked Head,  Easy Breezy Waves Are Elusive