Preparing to purr

I have worn my hair straight all winter because the lower atmospheric humidity paired with the fact we heat with wood means our house is drier than a popcorn fart AND also means I can have good, frizz-free hair from about November through February. I have gotten compliments all winter, too, because I was rocking my curling brush and this product stuff my BFF Tiff sent for Ab but I kind of stole. I mostly curled it into big loose curls and pomaded it into submission and just kicked all kinds of good hair butt.

But alas, the time of dry air has come to an end once more and now it is time to bring forth the curls because Oklahoma's humidity runs on average around 4000% from now until October and if you have naturally curly hair you know that curls around humidity is like a bunch of cougars (and not the wild animal) at a Tom Jones concert. There is lots of panty-throwing. And swooning. And other things I can't mention in polite company.

For the most part my hair is cooperating - except for my bangs. I'm in the process of growing them out and they're long enough to curl properly but see, my bangs, they are impressionable and all of this straightness the past few months has made them desire to be straight for, like, ever. They are like the unruly cousins the rest of my hair doesn't want to invite to Thanksgiving dinner because my hair just knows my bangs will do something embarrassing. Like get drunk on the cooking sherry and talk loudly about Uncle Harvey's "special friend" or something like that.

I've been pinning them back every day like all the teenagers are doing, but in case you don't know - I'm 36. I am staring down the barrel of 40 and folks, it ain't pretty. Ab says my hair is cute and she's 12 and she would know - BUT I say it again, I am 36. I'm bordering on cougar myself. The time for cute is over. Plus, I don't leave the house much so pinning them back is okay because Nonner loves me as long as I keep him stocked with apple juice and Cheerios. Cougar or cute, I'm good with him.

The other night in a desperate attempt to show my bangs who's boss, I trimmed them, which is basically like kneecapping them and threatening them with a cement overcoat, if you knowhaddamean. It helped some and this morning I had one of the best hair days I've had since humidity came back to town and started drunk calling at 3am again. My curls were curls; they were well-arranged, submissive, not frizzy and well, if I'm going to be a cougar soon I might as well say it - RAWR. I was hawt. Paul even said so. (Of course, I think he was just trying to make the most of the fact we were in the house sans kids because he's a man that way)

I had to take Sam to Tulsa today for his orthodontic x-rays and impressions, so I finished getting ready, sprayed my hair with my "flexible hold" hairspray (because you don't want the curls to form into a solid shell or helmet) and got ready to wow the city of Tulsa. Then I opened my front door, stepped outside and was immediately transformed into Phyllis Diller.

If you're reading this blog and you don't know who Phyllis Diller is, one, Google her and quick.

And two, does your momma know you're reading a soon-to-be-cougar's blog?