My sister yells at me. She says I have husband hair.
She says husband hair is when women my age still bother with the time and trouble of having long hair. She says the only reason why we do it is because men like it. She says men like seeing women with long hair spread out across pillows, and we with husband hair are going through a lot of pointless trouble just to make men happy. She says it’s too hard to have long hair, and I should just cut it short or at least shoulder length. She says don’t I do enough during the day; why do I have to spend so much time on long hair, just for a man?
I say when you are skinny and beautiful and have straight blond hair and boobs the size of my sister’s, it’s really easy to talk about not going out of your way for men.
I never thought of it as husband hair. I just thought of it as my hair. I like long hair. Also, when one tends to be pear shaped, one tends to shy away from short hair. It makes me look like a triangle. Triangles are bad.
There is a drawback to it though.
It gets really tangled in the back because it’s so curly. Then if I am short on time in the morning, it’s easy to put it up in a professional bun and hide a tangle or two and tell myself I’ll work on it that night. But if I wind up working late, by the time I get to bed I’m too tired to work on it, so the tangle gets just a little bigger. It becomes a cycle of buns and exhaustion, and the tangle grows.
Also too there are the periods of adoptive malaise. Adoptive malaise is a disease that comes when work is done and all the kids are gone, and I find myself not answering to calls of “Mom!” or “T!” all day. Adoptive malaise often happens on weekends and vacations. Without someone else’s needs to attend to, it is a requirement that I curl on the couch in a fetal position and sleep all day long. If you sleep all day long with your hair in a bun because you’ve been ignoring a tangle, that just makes things worse. The adoptive malaise lifts, but the tangle remains.
Sometimes the adoptive malaise is so heavy the only way I can tell I’m in it is by the tangle. I need to reach around the back of my head to tell if I’m depressed. Then the tangle depresses me more, because it’s so huge I can’t figure out how to get rid of it.
Occasionally the tangle is in a place where I can’t reach, and I need my husband to work on it for me. The tangle isn’t his fault or his responsibility, but sometimes he can get to the places I can’t. Other times I can’t find my way out of adoptive malaise, so I work on the tangle instead. Detangling usually takes a few nights. Then when I find the tangle is gone, the depression goes away with it.
All of this tangled hair talk is true but it’s also full of symbolism and metaphor because I’m just that deep.