“…her sparse hair was groomed and dressed to a neatness which suggested each separate strand knew its duty…and was determined to make up for its scarcity of companions.”
Margery Allingham’s “Death of a Ghost” p. 325, Crime and Mr. Campion,1959.
What is this? Every which way I comb my hair, ther’s a spot, a spot of skin, of scalp showing. My hairdresser is out this week and I “did” my hair.
I didn’t “do” enough to it. Or it’s been done to.
Poor hair. Those of you reading this letter either sympathize–you may be crying; don’t: stress is bad for your hair–or scoffing.
I know you scoffers: you’ve got thick hair that may even have to be thinned. (I’m controlling myself here. I’ll not say anything nasty.)
Perhaps it’s hard to cut? Or never does what you want? Or is the kind of hair that suits one hair style and only one?
I clamp my back teeth down and smile: even those nasty thoughts don’t help. Instead I wish I had thick hair that did only one thing.