I have struggled with fine hair my whole life. I've permed (aack!) it, curled it, grown it, shorn it. All in an endless and futile quest for a bouncin' and behavin' mane.
Had I saved even a fraction of the money I've spent on hair products in an RESP, my kids' postgraduate educations would be paid for by now.
All this to come to the realization, some years ago, that the hair God gave me would just have to do, however it looked when I showed up at the Ball. (It's not like any of my efforts made a difference anyway.)
Still, when nature whips out the 'snain' -- my kids' word for that half-snow-half-rain mess we get in Toronto this time of year -- no amount of maturity and perspective makes me accepting of the horror that will emerge from my tuque after a bout of shoveling.
Happy Flat Friday to everyone else who used mousse and a hairdryer anyway this morning. (So there.)