My hair, since the first time my mother pulled it into a ponytail so tight my grey matter bulged beneath my scalp, has been a source of constant angst. When the humidity is high, which in Georgia is 10 months of the year, my hair becomes a perfect isosceles triangle on my head. After my babies were born, it turned the same color as mouse fur.
Last night at Wal-mart, I discovered a product promising to cure my hair of its frizz and dryness and crazy curl: Organix Brazilian Keratin Treatment. The $14 price tag got it a ride in my buggy to the check-out and on home with me.
What seemed like a good idea in Wal-mart when I was alone after 9 o'clock, without children and running amok, in the bright light of day has caused me to pause. After more thought, I've recalled the times I tried to color my hair from a box and the resulting disaster of brassy strawberry blond that grated on the eyes like nails on a chalkboard. I looked as scary as this:
Then there's the time that I, oh she of the frizzy curls, decided to give myself a home perm. I ended up with something about like this:
I learned my lesson and the next time gave myself a body wave from a box. Egads!
As I read the directions for the home keratin treatment, my better judgement began to kick in. The treatment requires putting a liquid solution onto one's hair without over-saturating or letting it touch the scalp. Wait 30 minutes, then blowdry straight and flat iron each 2 inch section 7-10 times. For the treatment to effectively remove curl and frizz, hair must remain in this state for 48 hours.
Two days! Not only that, the directions also read that I could not disguise my gunked-up coif by putting it in a ponytail, twisting it into a clip, hiding it under a hat or even tucking it behind my ears.
For two days, I would have to pick up carpool, go to the bank, clap like crazy at soccer matches and walk the dog looking like Phyllis Diller. And based on past experience, there's a good chance that these results might last much longer, even with a good washing. If I'm willing to do such a ghastly thing to myself to save money, what else will I try? A home facelift?
For now my Brazilian Blowout in a box sits on the vanity calling me to action. And sisters, I tell you I'm weak. I think this time it will be different, that I'll get more than I paid for. The box promises the end result will be worth testing my social stamina by going in public with tricked-out tresses.
Oh my gosh! I'm going to have to go pick up my children from school early so they can drive me crazy and remind me that though I have eyes in the back of my head, I don't have arms back there. There's no way this will turn out well.
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