Sleeping With the Enemy

The rustling, arctic wind beats my bedroom window as my eyes part and squint to behold a dark and still room. I strain my eyes to gain a clear focus and glance over at the clock and realize it's 5:30 am. After a five second computing delay, I let out an irritated sigh because I realize I only have two more hours of sleep. Still groggy and lethargic I begin to question, "Why am I up?", and then the pain hits . A throbbing, searing, and excruciating pain takes over and suddenly I become very alert.

I look over to the window sill where my cup of pens, pencils and other utensils lie and I quickly reach for the scissors. With heaving panting and determination to rid myself of this pain, I hurriedly reach for the thread that is webbed through my scalp. So craftily webbed that I think Spiderman must have sutured this foreign material into my head. I point the scissors to my scalp and begin to cut anything that resembles a thread, and at this point it doesn't matter if it's my hair or the added hair. This stuff needs to come out now! Well maybe not cut out completely but I definitely needed a little relief.

See, I put extensions into my hair to give it a full and lengthy look for an upcoming fashion show. And after seeing the red carpets swarmed by pounds and pounds of unnatural human hair I decided that I too could join the "pat-your-weave ladies committee". For those who know me personally wonder why I ventured into this tangled web of weave, I mean my hair is at least 12 inches on its own. But all those esteemed to be beautiful and glamorous have put extensions in their hair. And for the sake of fashion I was willing to go the extra inch... more like 18 inches in total.

But is this what we are subjected too? Beauty defined by the fake and phony? And why is long hair deemed as beauty? I don't have any answers but what I do know is... I'm done with the extensions. I'm going to flaunt what I've got and make it work!

peace and hair grease,

Ruthie Dean