When I was the in the sixth grade, I used to style my hair in a long, hot dog curl. Not as in a ponytail; that would have been cute. Instead, I brushed it all forward as flat as I could get it and once it reached my forehead, I curled the entire thing upward to create mock bangs. Yeah, it was pretty horrible. If you don’t believe me, check out the inset picture of the blog. That’s me, in all my hair glory.
Mind you, I wasn’t trying to look bad on purpose. I just didn’t know how to do my own hair. Not only was it feathery fine, it was crazy curly, too. It was a complicated situation; one that my mother, who was born of Norwegian descent (and was blessed with the most perfect, stick-straight-slick-gorgeous hair,) didn’t know how to handle.
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