The UnGlamorous Mom

I bought a curling iron two years ago, but never had time to figure out how to use it. So it stayed in the packaging until last night. A move to a new hair stylist, who showed me how to curl my hair, inspired me to try before a series of holiday parties this week. I am 48. It’s about time I put some effort into looking a little polished.

But I just may not be meant to curl.

I grabbed the wrong end of the hot iron. Holy….!!

Fortunately, I had not waited long enough for it to heat totally up, as my error would have left me without a love line, lifeline, basically the palm print of my entire right hand.

It only hurt a lot for a few seconds. But I soldiered on.

Curled the first clump of hair four or five times, creating a tangled mess.

Gave up on that.

Tried curling the strands framing my face. Not a curl to be cued. They formed a 90-degree angle just below my ear. Pippi Longstockings without the braids…

… and minor burns.

Sigh. I brushed out the tangles and right angles, and went to the party my usual straight-haired self.

I’ll try a little lip gloss tonight. How dangerous can that be?