3 min read

The chemical disaster

I wish I had a time machine and could go back to yesterday afternoon and stop myself from committing the ultimate crime of hairdressing. But I don't and I didn't and my hair will have to be chopped right off today or tomorrow. Six years of growing, caring, shampooing and conditioning is going to be chopped off.

All I wanted to do is to give my hair a little bit more of that wonderful bounce and curl. I bought "smart curl" solution in the pharmacy, spent over an hour rolling my hair onto the rollers, timed everything perfectly, applied liquid 1, rinsed, applied liquid 2... tangled out the rollers just to find that my hair has been completely destroyed. Third degree chemical burn. I'm surprised it stayed attached.

I went to the living room where B. was sitting and playing games on my laptop. With tears in my eyes I uttered "my hair is ruined" and slumped on the chair beside the window, lit a cigarette with my shaking hands. "Is it?" he asked standing up. "Is there anything I can do?".

I looked at him trough tears with contempt. "No, there isn't. It's ruined". "It doesn't look that bad" he said. "Are you blind?!" I exclaimed "Look at it! Look at it! It's like straw! It's horrible! It's DESTROYED!!!".

He sat and looked at me. Said something about not wanting me to cry. Said something about professional hairdressers who could help. He tried to make me feel good, but seriously, what can a man know about hair? Unless he's gay, nothing. And B. isn't, I know for sure.

I mooched around a bit, had a cup of tea, watched some TV. I tried to distract myself from thoughts of scissors, having to explain to my stylist what happened to my gorgeous locks (the shame!), feeling that I can't really get away with extra-short cut that I will have to go for, not any more. I managed to get my thoughts off the subject of the straw-like wig that my hair turned into.

Still, B. with his death-wish still managed to bring it back up by mentioning that few years from now I will laugh about it. No I will not.

We went to sleep. As soon as the light was turned off I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep. Lack of distractions brought my fears right back. My hair. One of the few things I actually liked about myself. Gone. Gone gone gone.

I didn't like myself in shot hair.
Maybe I just simply don't like myself.
I surely don't like my face much, and lack of hair will only show it more.
And now, since I gained weight, it's even rounder.
I'm all round.
I should just roll off into a dark corner for few months, until my hair grows back.
Or few years.
God I have to go to the office tomorrow.
I hate my job.
I bet V. will make some stupid comment about my hair.
I'm going to kill her if she does.
I hate V.
I hate my job.
And now my hair is ruined.
I hate myself without the hair.
I hate my life....

I started to sob.
Then I started to cry.
My nose was blocked - I have a bit of a sinusitis again - so proper crying means horrible sounds. B. woke up, cuddled me and asked "are you ok?".
"n-nn-ooo o" I squealed - you know, you can't really talk properly when you try to hold in this dark utter feeling of hopelessness and loneliness.

He cuddled me some more as I cried. I could nearly hear his thoughts as he desperately looked for something comforting to say.

"You know what?" he started.
"No" I said.
"On Saturday we will go to the shop and buy an new duvet." he said.

I stopped crying immediately, shocked.

And now, I ask myself an age old question that has been bothering the womankind for more than we can remember: