I think I'm gonna curl!

Yesterday I got my hair done, not by my regular person. This hairdresser was very young, very sweet and amazingly sincere. After the shampoo bowl she raved about my natural wave and suggested that rather than wasting time straightening it out, I should just make the best of what was natural.
At the time it sounded like a reasonable idea, so I said, "Okay." She got some hair goo called 'Let It Curl' or somesuch freedom-sounding product and worked it into my damp tresses. Then she used a diffuser to bring it all out.
She liked it very much. My response was less positive. Something just short of "AGH! Get this giant pile of kink off my head!
So she, with the help of another nearby stylist, sprayed it down with witch hazel and then blow-dried it and flat-ironed it to a more chic and acceptable straightness.
I left the salon looking really good.
As evening arrived I had to attend a fancy dressed up event. I wore a gorgeous suit and headed out on the arm of my handsome husband. The setting was a nineteenth century mansion, now a private club, in my neighborhood. The people were charming and the discussions inspiring, but honestly it was busy, crowded and hot. Just off the second floor main salon was a covered porch with lots of tables and chairs and a lovely view. It was at least ten degrees cooler out there and I found myself drifting in that direction time and time again.
Did I mention it was raining? Ah, beautiful lovely rain. In drought parched south Texas we are just crazy for rain. We are all just astounded about how it can fall from the sky and make everything so cool, so green.
Of course, it has other effects. It can flood your neighborhood, as it has in Georgia this week. It can turn lazy little creeks into dangerous torrents. It can carve away the landscape in ways that are irreparable. It can kill people, which is certainly no joke and I wouldn't wish in any way to make light of that.
But to get back to my story, rain has amazing effects on hair. Especially curly hair. Even more especially, curly hair that has recently been imbued with a curl enhancement product.
So I am at this party, talking, chatting, ever teetering between being delightfully witty and sticking my foot in my mouth. And unbeknownst to me, my hair is evolving...or devolving. By the time I caught sight of myself in a mirror I was very distinctly Medusa-esque. Not a good look for me. Even with my excellent bone structure.
I'm not much better today. I look like a wild woman. I've pulled it back in a ponytail, but still there is just nothing smooth, sleek or tidy about it.
Sophisticated. My husband, Bill, tells me that was his first impression when we met. That was his word "sophisticated". Now I admit that if the talk turns to art, music, great literature or fine food, I can usually hold up my end of the conversation for about five minutes. Sophistication is not something one picks up in the oil patch. A sense of self reliance. A strong work ethic. A belief that anything can be fixed with wood shims, duct tape or WD40, those are traits you pick up in the oil patch.
The other stuff, not so much. More likely than sophisticated, I was probably just nervous. Whatever, he married me anyway and if he thinks he got shortchanged, at least he doesn't say so.
As I got to know him, I relaxed and behaved more like the person that I am, a little bit silly, sometimes irreverant, and a sufferer of Broadway Tourettes (the annoying tendancy to burst into song at any moment). It's not the most winning personality but it is me.
Sort of like my hair, however, I have the good sense to try to control it most of the time.