Not a Mensa Candidate

I have very long hair that is, well, difficult in certain respects. It’s as though the personality comes out of my brain, up through the hair roots and down through the strands. My hair likes things how it likes it and it doesn’t like any changes in the routine. I used to fight with my hair, trying to perm it into submission and blow dry it into compliance, but in the end, it was always I who had to cede to the hair. (Making someone look like a French poodle is remarkably persuasive – maybe the army could develop bombs that just gave everyone really bad hair days.)

One of my hair’s first commandments is “Thou shalt wash me no more than four times a week and never, ever, ever two days in a row.” The penalty for over-washing is brittle, cranky hair that splits at every end and then taunts me throughout the day. So yes, in the interests of peace in the hair community, I abide by that commandment.

Yesterday, after running around on the hurling pitch for an hour, practicing my roll-lifts, solo-runs and scoring points by whacking the sliotar over the bar, I was ready for a shower and the hair was ready for washing. When I opened the shampoo bottle, I thought to myself “Hey, they changed the way it opens. This used to open from the top and now it opens from the bottom.” And didn’t think much more of it.

This morning, when I woke up, my hair felt absolutely disgusting. Like I’d styled it with Crisco. Ewww. I was confused, since I’d just washed my hair the day before and, for all its evil punishments, excessive grease production is not something the hair usually goes for.

I resigned myself to the idea that I was going to have to break the hair’s first commandment, but I really had no choice. In the shower, I grabbed the shampoo bottle, squeezed out some shampoo, thinking this time that it’s weird they would change the design of the bottle without trumpeting a rebranding campaign all over it. That’s when I realised that the shampoo was rather viscous and not at all shampoo-like.

Yes, I’d washed my hair the day before with conditioner. Tell me what the freaking sense is in making two bottles look nearly EXACTLY the same, except that they open from different end and in 10-point font on the front says “Intensive Care Conditioner” instead of “Intensive Care Shampoo.”

The sad thing is, of course, this is not the first time I’ve done this. I use entirely different brands of shampoo and conditioner, so when I grab the blue bottle, I fully expect it to contain shampoo. I don’t condition the hair too often because of conditioner’s spoiling effects – the hair become fat and limp and lazy. It lounges on my head in a flat fashion, issuing orders like an over-indulged emperor.

The hair has berated me for my stupidity and mocked me mercilessly. I swear I remember standing in the supermarket aisle, carefully looking for the shampoo brand and style and then making SURE the bottle said “Shampoo” and not “Conditioner”. I either failed or the fairies are out to get me again. When in doubt, blame the fairies. Those evil bitches, with their perfectly coiffed fairy hair. I hope they had a good laugh.

Shampoo is now on the shopping list and I used Peter’s shampoo for the day. The hair is offended by the change but so far so good on the retaliation front. I shouldn’t take risks like this – the hair is powerful enough to strangle me while I sleep, but desperate times call for desperate measures. At least I don’t feel like I’m wearing a hat made out of cooking oil.