My favorite time to be glamorous is when I receive my monthly pedicure at my favorite ultra plush spa that is close to my house and within my price range. Now, I am chatty. I talk and talk and talk! No one has ever accused me of being quiet and whenever I am quiet, people ask if I am alright. Despite that side of me, when it comes to my personal time I am a monk sworn to silence. I see nothing, I hear nothing, and I register nothing but the wonderfulness surrounding me. The room is dimly lit and radiates with soft nature sounds. I sit in my plush La-Z-Boy wrapped with warm blankets and my eyes covered with a soothing mask while the best nail technician pampers my feet and legs. I am in heaven for an hour and a half.
A few Saturdays ago I was in this state when I felt someone or something touching my hair. Now, I was nearing snoring mode while I was in la la land when I felt this abrupt invasion. I had to emerge from under my comfortable blankets, remove my eye mask, and look up to see who or what was touching my hair. There were two women touching my hair without consent and I was shocked, insulted, and even a tad amused. Shocked because…who does that? Insulted because I value personal space and amused because again…who does that? “Uh, baby…who does your hair?” said the first woman who looked about 60 years old.
I had to remove my eye mask, and look up to see who or what was touching my hair.
Looking perplexed I answered, “I do it myself.” The other woman who appeared to be 70 years old responded, “No, who puts your weave in?” She even seemed annoyed as if I should have known what they were implying. I am fully aware of what I was dealing with now and when I looked down, the nail technician stopped working and looked puzzled and apologetic. I readjusted my posture to properly address this inquisition. “I don’t have a weave. My hair is natural. I’m a natural hair blogger too.” Why I chose to add that tidbit of information baffled even myself, as if I needed to give an explanation for my appearance.
By now the room full of women were all looking around to see what all the commotion was about. I was slightly embarrassed to be having this conversation in a room full of strangers and even more embarrassed at my hair being publicly fondled. Again…who does that? The younger one pursed her lips, shook her head, and motioned for the other to leave. As the older one trudged on she said rather curtly, “I felt tracks so I know she’s lying.”
As the older one trudged on she said rather curtly, ‘I felt tracks so I know she’s lying.’
I was done! My jaw dropped, my eyes glazed over, and I felt immediate shame. Seriously? She felt tracks? I had not washed my hair in over a week, maybe she felt dirt. But never tracks! With all eyes on me and the nail technician smirking, I quickly reclined the seat, placed my mask over my eyes, and removed myself from what I just experienced.
Needless to say, I got a free pedicure and apologies out the wazoo. I was told that the offenders were aunts of a guest who was getting her hair done in the salon section of the spa and they wanted to know which one of the hairdressers installed and styled what they assumed was a weave.
Funny, sad, and too embarrassing for me to recount until now, and here I am still feeling slightly shamed after being called a liar. Tracks? When I mentioned this to my sister she said I should have cussed them but what was the point?
What is your mortifyingly, embarrassing natural hair moment?
