YES SIR, YES SIR, THREE BAGS FULL

I'd always been a curly-haired kid, but as I grew older, my head began looking more and more like a beehive. It was called a brush, a mop, and a bird's nest, and was used as a pencil holder by the girls who sat behind me in school. Cut as short as possible, it would grow to two storeys high within a fortnight. It would never just sit on my head. I would manage to stuff a hairband somewhere in there for school discipline's sake, but it could never manage to go round the mop to reach my ears.

As years have passed and I've decided to try a long-haired look, it still remains unruly. I decided that all shampoos and conditioners were absolutely useless, and that I would have to do something drastic. I was, as informed by a friend, a "Hair Virgin". A weirdly funny term, this apparently means somebody who has not straightened, curled, streaked, coloured, or experimented in any other way. Mighty miffed at being categorized, I decided it was time.

Striding purposefully into the parlour, I asked for my hair to be straightened, and the lady stated her price. As I sat down on the seat and she got a got a good look at what she was in for, the mirror reflected her horror-struck face and eyes that bulged out of their sockets. She immediately upped and almost doubled her price.

I demanded to be told the reason, silently daring her to call my head the broom that it was. She muttered, "Kitna baal hai!!!" and rushed out to confer with the boss lady. I could hear her trying to pass the buck, and the boss came in trying to explain that it would take more than an hour and usage of lots of "electrick-city" to get the job done.

Amidst round-eyed stares and young beauticians sniggering in the background, the straightening was done in two hours flat. Each hair on my head had been examined. My scalp was checked to see how many strands came out of each pore. It was wondered whether they had ever seen hair this curly. It was then disdainfully stated that it had a rebellious mind of its own, where one side would spring back to its twisted self as soon as attention was paid to another.

I came away feeling like I'd been poked and prodded at under a microscope, but as I sashayed in front of the mirror I realised that I now had hair that would fall back down if lifted on my head, and not remain perpendicular to the ground.

I was a poodle no more. It was time for the silky-headed spaniel that knew how to Sit.

:)