Big-Time Prom Hair

I had my birthday party on Saturday night. It was in the 19th century house of a friend whose great-grandmother was the patroness of Tehuantepec and incidentally the mistress of a powerful president. I would be the blonde slumped over in the middle of the group. ‘Cuz we couldn’t take a picture at the beginning of the night when my dress was crisp, my face shineless and with me . . . well . . . sober, now could we? Later we went dancing. Good times.

You can’t see it but I have Big Time Prom Hair. I told the hair lady (my friend’s next-door neighbor) that my dress was on the elegant side and I needed hair to match. She said no problem and two cubic feet of ozone layer later we had a cascading ponytail studded with a big, pink rose. This is a good look for the women with thick, gorgeous Latina hair, for this WASP, though; she had to tease my baby-fine hair to hitherto un-attempted heights covered by a thin layer of smooth hair to hide the rat’s nest underneath. I woke up the next morning with a small community of hairpins scattered in my bed.