So yesterday morning, I washed my hair, scrunched it, ran the blowdryer in its vicinity, pulled it back from my face with a barette and a few pins, and left for work. All day I kept thinking, "but it's not a real curly hair day." I saw myself as happy, patient (at least as much as I ever am), optimistic, and polite. Alas, the curly hair prevailed. By the end of the night it was whipped back into a ponytail, I'd been to Lowe's wearing jeans and a tank top to buy a plumbing snake, and I managed to speak not-so-nicely to my lovely husband, who even used the word "thusly" (*swoon* we love a good vocabulary!) and tried to help with the clogged sink despite being sick. *sigh* Like I said, the curly hair prevails.
It was Kate who first named the phenomenon, from her desk on the other side of the bank...she would know within a few emails whether my hair was its natural, unruly self or had been tamed and smoothed that day. Evidently I'm much more refined when I bother to hot-roll.