Don’t Touch my Fro
I don’t have a problem with people touching my hair…if they ask first. I’m not an animal at a petting zoo, or some oddity in the circus. I get the curiosity and, trust me, I like touching my hair too. It is pretty goddamn fluffy.
But reaching out and touching my hair us rude, it’s like saying you don’t respect my personal space enough to ask first. Thing about it this way: you wouldn’t like it if someone starting tugging your ears without your permission, right?
Going on a separate tangent, I might as well start charging people to touch it, since I get asked roughly 10 times a day. After all, college tuition isn’t cheap and I could make this into a profit. I can see the headlines now: “Touch the fluffy afro for only $5 dollars! And if you pay a separate fee of $2, you won’t get a judgmental stare from the participants!”
When I was smaller than I am now, I went to a slumber party with my middle friends. I believe her name or Heather or something, mentioned that she wasn’t going to wash her hair that night because she was tired and she didn’t want us to think she was gross.
I casually mentioned that I only wash mine once a week or so. Seeing her jaw drop made me laugh, and then I spilled the tea on black hair. Our hair is naturally dry and thrives on oils, so washing it daily would make it drier than the Sahara desert. Not to mention waste a lot of shampoo. I actually have a separate shelf containing an arsenal of hair supplies, but that’s something for another blog post.
Side note: My blog posts are so late, I bet my one follower is steaming right now. To keep up with my quota of 2 blog posts every week, I’ll publish four today and another two this week.
Kill me Keep tabs on my blog!