Wild Hairs

So I have non-compliant,  incorrigible hairs, now in their gray stages.  It's a little curly, wholly unmanageable by any of usual methods.  I dyed my hair for years in my twenties and thirties, but by the time I hit my fifties, it became apparent that I could have dyed hair if I wanted, but it was gonna be fried, dyed hair.   It no longer took to the processes of alteration.

Last week, I admitted to a friend that I'd cut my own hair for fifteen or twenty years.  She was aghast.  "How do you do that?" she sputtered.  "If it sticks out, I just whack it off,"  I explained.  

It's fairly short these days, thinner by some measure.  I have a cowlick right in front, if if my front and center hairs are too long, then I have a bald spot.  Short hairs cure that.  Still, it's curly enough if I don't mess with it too much.

I have an old faithful shampoo I can get at the grocery store.  I changed brands last month, thinking I could save a few pennies.  The new shampoo took all the curl out and plastered my hairs to my head.  It looked like I was wearing a dead animal.  Weeks later  the shine came back, the curls came back, and my hairs looked like they had some life again.  

Last night, on a break in a class, another woman and I were washing our hands after a potty stop.  She  stood up to dry her hands and glanced at my hairs.  That stopped her cold.  "Ack," she said.  And left.