The Big Chop

In a bid to save money I decided to skip salon visits and wash my treated hair myself. So after my shower I settled into the task of washing the threads I call hair. You know how the ritual goes, wet hair and lather shampoo, rinse and rinse. In the midst of the ritual, I hear a sound that is not water slopping about my wet hair. It’s the sound of giggling: a child’s laughter to be precise.

I brushed it off as a passerby walking past my bathroom window. My house’s back wall was so low with a high verandah that a person could stand on it and merrily peer into my bathroom. I toyed with the idea of getting a curtain but I thought no one would be so crass to peep. Little did I know that is exactly what one cheeky little boy had on his mind.

To my dismay the giggling continued and grew more raucous drawing my attention. With soapy water streaming down my face I glanced up to see snot faced brat staring deep into my eyes and amused by nakedness. In my horror I screamed.

 ‘’Go away’’ I scream as I try to wash the shampoo out of my stinging eyes in a useless effort because my damp straggly  hair keeps a stream of water droplets flowing onto my face and into my eyes. My blood is boiling and I want to strangle the little peeping Tom who is frantically giggling at my misfortune.  

With an enormous effort not to slip on the wet floor I grab a towel from where it hangs and rub my face aggressively till it stings a little. My eyes burn from the assault of the soap and tear a little but that does not thwart me from pursuing my little tormentor.

Towel firmly wrapped around me, I dash out of the house to where the peeping Tom stood.

 To my disgust and sheer anger, he had vanished into the dusty rubbish strewn street.  Upon closer inspection I noticed the stone my Peeping Tom stood on. I flung it into the gutter overflowing with refuse in different stages of decomposition. Then with a shrug I proceeded to the house to get ready for work.  

After a long hard look at my straggly hair then at the row of my hair products I’d accumulated to make it grow properly. The thought struck me,’ Why not just cut it all off.’ After all, my hair had been reduced to auburn threads.

That evening with my love holding my hand, I embraced the scissor and cut off all my relaxed tresses. Thus began my dreadlock journey.