I Can Fix You

I was at Walmart which automatically means this entry is filed under soapbox and stupid people. In the pet section I stood trying to decide what to get for Bella when this stupid woman looked at me and said, “Ya know, I do hair.” Usually I’m assertive as well as a smart ass and can come back quickly when someone decides to be stupid, but I’m extra sensitive about my hair. I wrote the entry about my mother wanting to have me get hair surgery so that my hair would look as good as my sisters. I also mentioned that I was required to wear my hair long. It was long but it wasn’t as thick as my sisters thus the need for Bosley hair reconstruction. Argh! So, growing up being told my hair isn’t good enough kind of has me a bit sensitive about it. Well, this is the second time in a store that someone told me they could fix my hair and the second time I quietly said, “I know I have bad hair.”

I laugh about it, make jokes about because that’s how I handle stuff that really hurts and cuts deep. But damn, really? Is it that bad that people feel they can walk up to me, hand me their card and tell me they can fix me? It hurts. It’s humiliating! Who does that anyway? My mother. She would go up to people and tell them she could do a wonderful make over for them. I always thought it was the worst thing ever. And why did she think she could fix the world anyway? Why did she alone have the power to make a person beautiful? And who the hell gave her the right to decide what is beautiful and what is not?

Had the lady in the store the other day told me “I know of a good weight loss program” I might have told her I know that milk could help with her obvious vitamin D deficiency. Had she told me she knows of a good clothing shelter where I can get better shoes I might have thanked her and let her know just how unimportant her life is in the grand scheme of things. But no, she mentioned the one thing that knocks me for a loop. She talked about my hair and I turned into that little six year old girl who slowly raised her hand to her head and apologized for her existence. “I know I have bad hair.”

Since then I’ve been literally tip toeing around the house. I walk on my tip-toes making as little noise as possible. It’s almost as if I’m trying to be invisible, trying not to disturb anyone by my presence alone. It takes a quick reminder that some people are idiots. That reminder helps  get me back to where I need to be. I’m not 6 years old. I don’t live under my mother’s thumb anymore.

I’m a 38 year old alpha female whose beauty goes beyond skin deep.
I will not apologize for my existence.

Faith