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Now I remember why I don’t wear my hair down very often.

Determined not to look like the walking dead (even if I still felt like it), I got up a bit early and straightened my hair. For the one time this year, my hair had actually dried before bed last night and it had stayed relatively untangled and frizz-free, so it was an easy job. But would it last?

By the time Little Guy and I left the house, my hair was still perfect – perfectly smooth, perfectly shiny, perfectly in place. Then I opened the door. The wind hit me first and made the air feel close to -30C. So a few strands were blown out of place, it was still good, right?

The parking lot at the school was relatively empty; the school yard was completely empty. I popped the buckle on the seat belt and as it retracted, I felt a sudden tug and then…then it slowly dawned on me, as the tug turned to pain, that a large fistful of my hair had retracted with the seat belt and I was now hopelessly snarled. My claustrophobia started to kick just as Little Guy started singing “Everything is awesome” for the quadrillionth time…Everything was not awesome…

I walked Little Guy to the school door, with tears streaming down my white face, as I nursed the balding spot on the side of my head. I was still confident that I could run a comb through it when I got to work; it could still be alright.

I needed caffeine so I stopped at the grocery store, which just happened to have a Tim Horton’s. I bought my strong and steaming elixir of heavenly morning goodness. Then I headed to the back to grab a 2L carton of lactose-free milk and a dozen large eggs (might as well make the trip really worthwhile). Tim Horton’s used to double-cup their hot tea, but not anymore. It required a delicate balancing act to carry a 2L carton of milk, 12 eggs and a very hot, very large tea from the back of the store to the only cashier open at that hour…on the farthest side of the store possible. By now, I could feel the frizz started to build up. As I struggled to pack my one bag, juggle keys and mittens, and fight with the purse strap that kept sliding off my shoulder (my hair must have been shinier than I realized), I dropped a tissue. Not wanting to litter, I bent down to pick it up. As I bent down, my purse strap snagged a hunk of hair on the opposite side to where my head was still smarting…I roared, scaring the aging gentleman behind me. I apologized profusely, confessed I wasn’t have a very good day, and stormed out to the car. Too bad the hairs that were ripped out weren’t gray. I wouldn’t have minded so much…

By the time I got to work, over a dozen single strands of hair clung to my face. It was stuck in my lip gloss. It was hooked in the hinges of my glasses. I tried to wipe it off with my red woolen hands, only to end up gagging at least one hair. It didn’t taste good. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a gray one…

Fortunately, I didn’t meet anyone when I first arrived at work. I was able to head to the bathroom relatively quickly to see if my beautiful hairstyle could be redeemed. It couldn’t! I looked worse than if I had just climbed out of bed after a really bad night.

And that – that is why I now remember why I don’t wear my hair down.