My head looked like a wedding cake
High school prom. Got my shimmery green tube dress ready, got my makeup done…. And all that was left was the hair.
Mom brought me to her trusty haircutter person at an Asian barbershop in Stockton. Pins and curler in hand, she diligently worked on my hair for an hour.
Once completed, she spun me around to face the mirror and unveil her final product!
……..
My heart sank. I was mortified. I wanted to cry. Actually, I did, while leaving the salon.
My head looked like the monster child resulting from copulation between an overly ornate, 5-level wedding cake and a gnarly 80s mullet, curled.
My mom and I hurried out of the salon, and into the car. She was calmly muttering “No. Doesn’t look good.” It was very like my mother to not make a scene and hurt the stylist’s feelings. By now, I’d already been sobbing my eyes out. I had this perfect image in my head - I would have a simple French twist garnished with a little flower. Yes. That image? Completely shattered. Crappy hair, paired with puffy, bloodshot eyes from crying? Yep, this bride of Frankenstein is ready to walk down the aisle.
I had 1 hour to get ready and be out the door. My hair was butchered, with my makeup smearing down my face like a homicidal clown.
I had just barely dragged my feet to the bathroom when my mom quickly got to work. She began removing all 5,233 pins out of my hair with her nimble fingers. Brows furrowed like a master, she inspected and began dislodging and loosening my curls that were sprayed flat onto my scalp, rearranging and returning some volume to my tresses.
“kastunay met ti kulot-kulot na.” [Translation: (muttering) “All these curls are too much.”]
She swiftly grabbed a brush and began pulling my hair into a curly bun. I was still crying my guts out. If only my dress was red, to match the color of my sclera ….
…and Voilà! My mom turned my hair into something much more decent (and less 80s-ish). She always had a knack for salvaging situations, both serious and trivial … Like her daughter’s prom ‘do. Thanks, mom. You knew what was already on my mind even before I broke out into hysterical sobbing, typical for a 17 year old teen. You always made things all better, mom. Always.
