The reality of having long hair is a bit like sex and the movies. On film it’s great. Romantic. Dramatic. Perfect. And frequently accompanied with a great backing track. The reality is somewhat different; usually involving some awkwardness, probably a bit of cramp, general emotional disappointment and a backing track of noises that we most definitely didn’t hear coming out of Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis, in that scene in Top Gun. In fact, that film has a lot to answer for regarding romance / my expectations after it heavily influenced my vulnerable and innocent young mind. (Family and friends can leave the room at this point if you are unable to stop sniggering).
Anyhow, I digress. Hair. I was brought up on Timotei adverts and White Snake videos. It set the bar high. Think Rapunzel tresses, strolls through golden fields of corn on sunny days; a perfectly behaved grey horse, casually wandering along beside me as I smiled and laughed at nothing, whilst flicking my super long locks every thirty seconds without so much as a hint of whiplash.
So, as I ran to the bathroom in the early hours of last night for an emergency wee (caused by new fitness fad of drinking heaps of water … not by tired old bladder moving into the realms of night-time incontinence) with not only a set of headphones tangled up in the birds nest but also the laptop still attached too, it was a far cry from those heady days of childish daydreams. Apparently going to sleep listening to music when wearing headgear that also has a mouth-piece arm, is reserved only for the brave and the foolish.
<Queue Village Idiot’ess stage left>
A wave of horror swept through me as I attempted to remove said attire and found that I couldn’t. Despite numerous firms tugs and a prayer sent up to the God of Ablutions, there was no way my toilet necessities were going to wait. It was either cut the hair, snap the headphone set or…. carry half the electrical content of my house to the loo with me. I chose the latter. I’m happy to report that twenty minutes and a near panic attack later, I managed to release myself. To celebrate my newly found freedom, I jumped back into the safety of my bed and deftly trapped my hair under my own armpit and almost ripped my head from my shoulders.
Long hair comes with responsibilities that, in all honesty, I’m not sure I’m mature enough for yet. As it’s grown, so have the hurdles. Meal times – attempting to serve / eat without consuming some keratin-spaghetti. Accidentally dunking it into gravy or whatever saucy pleasure is on offer. Clearing out the plug hole in the bath has become a task that requires courageous and sturdy excavating skills, and don’t even get me started on what it’s like trying to handle a windy day whilst wearing lip-gloss.
Yes, I know there are such things as hair bobbles, but I’m fairly certain my hair trained with Houdini. And besides, I am at heart, a hopeless romantic and I’m sure that if I hold out long enough, one day I will catch the wind in the right direction and get my Timotei moment.