I’m Shedding…again

Seein’ as how this has happened before, I thought I’d say it again….
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There is a little hormone amongst all of us that allows us to shed our hair. During pregnancy, however, that little hormone is shut off, leaving the mother with a pipe dream that this lush, flowing-with-milk-and-honey hair will stay forever. Oh, I have beautiful hair when I’m pregnant. But not beautiful enough that I’d keep getting pregnant. It curls right. It straightens like a rock star. It bounces pretty like. Sometimes I think I could be on a Pantene commercial. But then, who would want a 9 month “prego” on a Pantene commercial?
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Just the other day I was taking a shower. Let me say that showering, in and of itself, is something I should get a small plaque for. I do shower once a day. It might be at 4pm, but I am showered. That one will hold for the next day at 4pm for sure. Most people might take one at, say, 6:30am or something crazy like that. It too holds for 24 hours. So, my 4pm shower is just as good as your “look at me, I can get things done at the appropriate time” shower.
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Still, I was taking a shower when it started. The shedding. The hormone to release the hair had been flipped back on. Handfuls, I tell ya, handfuls were coming off my beautiful head of hair! ”Curse you hormone maker!” (yelled with fist in air) “…curse you” (said in a whisper with a little bit of a gravely voice).
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So, there it went. I’m sure some of it went down the drain, but most of it just settled on top of it, like a head trying to squeeze up from under the pipes. “Eeeww,” you say.
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And you say it for two reasons:
1. You pictured a head coming up the drain
2. Hair ON the drain
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Now, let’s think about this for minute. That hair now clogging up my drain, like a small mouse drowning, was not but 3.2 seconds ago atop my head being massaged, washed, conditioned, rinsed, and coddled. Oh, how I love my hair atop my head! But, my dear strands of chocolate locks, if you turn on me and leap to your doom at the bottom of my shower, you.are.dead.to.me.
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Once that hair has left my head it becomes the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in the history of everything. Why do we do that? Why, for the love of Pete, is that hair now so gross that I throw up in my mouth a little bit when I have to scoop it up and drop it in the John?
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We’ll walk up to one another, well girls do, and say, “You have gorgeous hair!” We’ll actually reach up and rub our hand down the back, or kinda of flippantly play with the front strands. We give each other loving caresses when talking about the honey highlights and soft amber hues. But if one, I say ONE, of those hairs dismounts and lands on my hand, and I know it’s not mine, there is a quarantine troop waiting in the wings to hose me down and spray me with anti-fungus-from-strange-hair antidote.
When our hair does a Benedict Arnold, we give it no mercy. If it’s on the shower wall, we pelt it with handfuls of water to make sure that sucker gets down that drain to it’s eternal doom.
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“Die, traitor, die! You turn on me, you make your escape, and you will never be beautiful to me again! You’ve forever lost your chance to be highlighted, moussed, dried, sprayed, clipped, spritz, or trimmed. You cannot contribute any longer to all that is beautiful for me! Maw-ah-ah-ah!”
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So, now that all my hair is jumping, I need a cut and color to make the other ones feel loved and appreciated. (Sigh) I’m sure even though I will treat them to such perks, they too will one day make the inevitable Exodus, and I will have to be left with the difficult and laborious job of growing new ones.
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