I didn’t head down the wrong path. I wasn’t hanging with the bad crowd. I was a good girl. I loved my mama. I went to Catholic school so I loved Jesus. Probably America, too.
All my friends were doing it. I needed to fit in.
So there I was. In my friend’s basement. An odd, sharp scent permeated the air. My nose twitched. My eyes watered. My scalp tingled.
It wasn’t a bad trip.
IT WAS A SPIRAL PERM.
Here’s the thing. I HAVE NATURALLY CURLY HAIR. If you know anything about hair, you know naturally curly hair has a tendency to frizz. And perms have a tendency to frizz, especially on nine or ten years old who don’t really know anything about hair care. So put the two together and you’ve got a head full of what the fuck.
I thought I was SO @$%!# cool with the hairspray bottle filled with water and the scrunching and the 24 hours of potent aroma of my unwashed head because that’s the first cardinal rule of perm maintenance.
I was RAD.
And I didn’t get one perm. I got @#%$@ several. Apparently I did not catch on fast.
That is a borderline fro, people.
No wonder I was toward the bottom of the elementary and middle school food chains.
It should be noted that these are from a time period of which I let very few people see photos of. Including Big A. So you should feel HONORED. Or something.
I’m willing to admit my fault. I doubt my mother chained me to the salon chair. I’m sure I begged for days. I was an idiot. But I wanted to be cooooool.
Now, admit it. You spiraled, too.
This post was part of the Remember the Time Blog Hop that I’ve been meaning to do, like, all summer. Hopefully those photos made up for my laziness. YOU’RE WELCOME.