I have hair envy. I  admit it. I’m okay with it. I have dealt with my issues. My hair is super fine and kinky. At best, the tiny, ebony coils of my crown hang slightly below my ear. I recognize that the producers of Pantene commercials  will probably not be knocking on my door anytime soon. Consequently, dating a man with exponentially long hair  was never something I would’ve  ever considered. Man buns and dreadlocks were never on my menu until…

 His locks were magnificent mahogany tendrils of perfection.  Although he was  vertically challenged, I gave him a pass because of charm and intellect. “Ralph” was a Physics professor at a nationally ranked university, as well as the president of his fraternity’s graduate chapter. In spite of living miles away from each, our conversations always flowed effortlessly and the day trips seemed to end ever so quickly. Therefore, after a few months of hemming and hawing, a weekend excursion was planned.

   A storybook evening of dinner, dancing, and a fair share of drinks. Lots of drinks were consumed. Hit the shower, put on my best Victoria’s, and I sat back and waited. Steam preceded his descent from the bathroom. He stood before me. Half naked chocolate goodness, draped in only a white bath towel strewn across his hip, baby oil glistening over his arms and chest, and a black satin hair bonnet with white lace adorning his head. Yes, I said a hair bonnet! Not a doo-rag or scarf, but a $4.99 from Sally’s Beauty Supply, Big Mama wearing with pink curlers, hair bonnet.

Image result for woman with hair bonnet

   Remember the scene in Little Red Riding Hood when the wolf peeks from underneath the covers in grandma’s bonnet? Then you will recall Little Red’s reaction  something akin to-“What the fuck is happening right now?” My reaction was pretty parallel. As he leaned in the threshold of the door with his best come-hither look; in my inebriated state all I could do was laugh.

“Are you ready for this?”

“Ready for what? Clearly you don’t think something is about to pop off with your mama’s hair bonnet on?”

  Fifteen minutes of lock maintenance and hair care discussion ensued, but I wasn’t convinced. There was no way on God’s green Earth that I was going to allow this man to climb on top of me, or under me, with this satin adornment draped to his head. It was too much.  Because now, just to prove a point, he refused to take it off. So, we called a truce. He slept on the couch in his black hair bonnet. I proceeded to the bathroom, retrieved my red hair bonnet, wrapped my hair, and fell asleep.

Apparently, I still have hair hangups.

 

 

 

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