Razor Blade Hair

When I was in high school I was a lifeguard. The pay kicked ass, but I was so miserable. First of all, I don't tan. My freckles join together and resemble a tan, then I just burn. Lifeguards know few things that other people don't: we know what it feels like to have only your knees and the top of your feet burned; we also know what it feels like to whack yourself in the face with a whistle.

Sitting on top of a tower when it's 115 degree heat index only puts you closer to the sun. I suffered from heat exhaustion. I'd take my break and go throw up in the bathroom. The sun made me that sick.

One day, without telling my mother, I stopped by a SuperCuts or something equally as awful after work and I ordered the lady to cut off all my hair. She didn't want to, but I was set on it. My mother saw me and cried. Think Molly Ringwald, that's what I looked like that summer. But at least I wasn't getting sick from the heat anymore.

Since then every summer when the thermostat hits 100, I make a hair appointment. I get my hair cut short and then thinned with a razor blade comb. My hair is that thick. Today is no different, but I have sense enough not to look like Molly Ringwald anymore.