| MOP HEAD - Part 2 by The Bard |
| Indeed, had it not been for the summer holidays I don�t think I would have persevered. As my hair grew it became more and more difficult to make it look respectable. By the time the school term ended, friends were beginning to ask questions � usually along the lines of �Can�t you do something with your hair?� During the school holiday I kept myself to myself. It was a rare, hot English summer. I sat in the garden, sunbathed, listened to the radio, read. By the time the summer ended, my hair was long enough to drag back, with the help of scores of clips into a stubby ponytail. At least I felt I could face the world � albeit with some trepidation. I wasn�t sure if it was an improvement, but it was different. �Wow your hair�s grown!� said Mary as we greeted each other on the first day back at school. It was more surprise than appreciation � after all she had never seen my hair longer than three inches in three years of friendship. But, she was right. My hair had grown � at least three inches in as many months � enough for the meanest of ponytails. A number of others mentioned my new hairstyle that first day. I went home feeling reassured. My fears of more �mop head� taunts were unfounded. Of course the mop head hadn�t gone away. Released from its restraint of clips, and bands, my hair still sprung upwards and outwards, growing in width as much as length. Even in the ponytail, getting my hair to lay flat and even was near impossible. But, it was acceptable and accepted, and I was still a long way from returning for another shearing. My hair�s growth through that year was fast and furious. Despite the daily chore of combing it, brushing it and tying it back, I kept out of the way when the hairdresser visited. In some respects it became easier. As I could get more and more of my hair into a ponytail, it needed fewer and fewer clips to keep it under control. My new �style� was accepted at school, and no longer drew comments. By the next summer holidays I could get all my hair into a ponytail tied low at the neck � even the fringe. I was ready for a visit to the hairdresser again. In just over a year my hair had grown from a one-inch crop to what, when released from its ponytail, resembled a shaggy, layered thatch. At least by now it wasn�t growing horizontally � the top layers reached my shoulders. However, as I stood in front of the mirror I resembled nothing so much as an old English sheepdog. Something had to be done. A went to a hairdresser in the town centre � preferring to keep away from the past associations of having my hair cut at hope. �What do you want me to do with this�, said the hairdresser as she released my hair from its ponytail. I had already decided � all one length, just long enough for a ponytail. With a resigned look, she did what I asked. The back layers, which were by now almost bra strap length were trimmed back to my shoulders and the whole thing finished with a blunt cut. The effect was almost comical. My shoulder length bob was so thick that it stood some four to six inches from my head � almost as wide as my shoulders. The thickness that had been disguised by the layers was now all too apparent. From the back and side it was near conical in shape. Immediately I put my hair in a ponytail � which I could still, luckily, just do � and marched out the shop. Despite my still bizarre appearance with my hair loose, I was pleased with the haircut. My ponytail looked neater and my hair was easier to brush and detangle. It its pony tail, no one noticed the change when I started school the next term. I was, by this time, in my school friend�s minds, forever associated with my ponytail! Every now an then, as the year progressed, one of my friends would comment on how long my hair was getting. By the following summer, my stumpy ponytail had grown to a foot long. However, the sleek ponytails of other girls in my school were not for me. My hair was so thick that it spread out from its clip in a huge fan spreading over my back. Increasingly I had to wear my hair in a thick braid, as the ponytail no longer satisfied the safety concerns of the various chemistry and cookery teachers. Up until now, I had never worn my hair loose to school or any school events. I had noticed that I was starting to look a little less bizarre as my hair grew longer. The length was starting to balance the thickness, and, now that my hair stayed over my shoulders, by face didn�t seem quite so swamped. By the school Christmas party, with my hair just a few inches short of my waist, I ventured out for the first time in two years with my hair hanging loose. The reaction at the party was a revelation. The girls were all over me immediately. �Wow! Your hair is amazing! It�s so beautiful! I didn�t realise it was so long! There�s so much of it!� The chorus of approval took me by surprise. I still saw my hair as an unruly mop needing to be licked into shape every morning. Girls everywhere were touching my hair, playing with it, asking me to show it off to their friends. The reaction from the boys took longer and was less obvious. I could see them standing in groups at the end of the dance floor peering at me surreptitiously from the shadows. As the evening wore on there was a steady stream of shy suitors � particularly on the slower dances, where the opportunity to run the hands through my hair was too much to resist! For the first time in my life, I realised that my hair was a real asset � something to be admired rather than regretted. I also realised its raw power over the opposite sex. In one night I had been transformed from Plain Jane to the Belle of the Ball! |