My Dirty Little Secret
Here's a dirty secret: I haven't washed my hair in five days.
I would. I have nothing against
shampoo. But I can’t wash my hair because I no longer know how.
At some point during puberty, my nice, normal wavy locks took a twisted turn. I woke up one morning to find a mass of matted, frizzy poodle fur atop my yiddishe kop, and I had no idea what to do with it.
Naturally, I did everything
wrong: I brushed it. I blow-dried it. I applied product after product
to it to make it look less… less… Jewish. But nothing worked.
Like a bat mitzvah present I couldn’t return, I was stuck with it.
Kids being the tolerant beings that they are made me feel totally comfortable with my new look by endowing me with such loving nicknames as “Cave Woman” and “Yeti.”
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