One of the fun parts of being in a production is having someone else do you hair for a change.
The trouble comes, however, when the girl who does your hair for the show asks you very kindly to leave the hairspray in so that the hair is easier to do on the next night. The result? Three days of tangled, hairspray-coated hair that seems to sprout its own bobby pins. I’m well on my way to having a set of very chalky dreadlocks. It has begun to resist combs and form garbled sentences. You know it’s been a long week when you start talking to your hair and it talks back.
It took every ounce of willpower I had to resist scrubbing my hair clean for tomorrow. But no, I left it in, and it’s guaranteed to look even ghastlier when I wake up in the morning. I’m wondering if my hair will ever be the same again.
Maybe they could just pin it into one great tangle and slap on a wig. That would probably be easier than trying to tame the jungle of tangles that’s sprouted on my head.
Ah, well. The things we do for art.