Pigtails

So I decide to wash the petro-chemical slurry out from my hair before turning in for the night. I scowl at my reflection in the bathroom mirror both long and hard. My hairline has begun to beat a very slow but very steady retreat back from the front line. My coward, pacifist hair, I think to myself. My remaining troops and I won’t ever lose the war outright, but the mere prospect of some day sporting my father’s high forehead magnifies my disgust ten-fold. I think back to happier times.

I remember once letting a girl in my high-school trig class put my hair up in pigtails just for the sake of letting her touch me. As the school’s dress code allowed for the wearing of hats (at the teacher’s discretion), I didn’t care when said girl wouldn’t take them down again, just put my cap on and made my way to history.

I did manage to forget, however, that my history teacher (who just so happened to also be my football coach) did not care much for hats in the classroom. A wave of sheer terror must have washed over my face when I was asked to please remove said hat. Teenage über-crush Beth sat only seats away from me. Damn.

I desperately dug for the rubber bands, but couldn’t even find them. How the hell had she managed to get them so tight? Snickers from everyone besides my coach and me. I believe that thoughtful stoner-girl Summer helped me finally pull them out.

I crawl into bed, queue up Built to Spill’s “The Normal Years,” and listen to “Terrible/Perfect,” while I lick my wounds.

-mixtape

---

Tags: Embarasing, Personal, Memories, Pigtails,

~ by mixtape on May 2, 2007.