Sunday I had my usual date with the antiques market, and I decided to try for the umpteenth time to try fingerwaves on me. I have very straight, and very heavy hair, so whatever amount of gel, water, hairspray or lime I put on them seems not to be enough. This time, for God knows what combination of favourable weather, good cosmic vibrations, the intercession of a God of the Hair, or just luck, they turned out pretty well.
The previous night, however, my head looked like this:
and my family looked like they were going to burst into wild laughter from one moment to the next.
In the early Sunday morning, my mum came into my room with her bathrobe on and her hair wet, and woke me up to get her hairpins back.
Thank you, mom. Very kind.
I and mom competed for the mirror - she kept saying that, if she didn't blow-dry properly her hair (with a round brush, loads of pins and two mirrors at her disposal), they would have revolted against her; *I* kept saying that, after a night spent with a thousand metallic pins on my head, I had no intention to spoil the whole thing by combing my hair without seeing what I was doing.
It was a hard fight. I won a corner on the lower part of the mirror, and managed to comb my hair and put some makeup on.
When I finally got dressed - with a combination of greys and taupe that made my mom (her, child of the 80s) put her hand on my shoulder, shake her head, and say compassionetly "You can't be a daughter of mine" - my brothers had a lot of fun in taking my cloche hat off, then putting it on again.
Thanks, guys. Very funny.
I cuffed the youngest one on the head, but didn't reach the other.
While I was finally reaching the car to go to the market, my dad took a look at me, arched an eyebrow, and commented "Your shoes look like your grandma's."
Thank you, dad. Very uplifting.