Day 15:  Curls Just Wanna Have Fun

Ah, the 80s. The nylon materials, chemically-processed hair, and shellac to hold it all in place. It was all just so...FLAMMABLE. Did anyone spontaneously combust? Because I feel like people probably did, but there was no 24-hour news network to let us know about it. This glamour shot is a fine representation of not just big hair, but HOMEMADE HAIR. Those perms? They were done at the kitchen table and with a Toni home perm kit. 

I'm pretty sure most people in my generation experienced the torture. You'd schedule an ENTIRE AFTERNOON to get that hair did. Drag out the rollers and an old towel and assume your position in the kitchen chair. The victim....er, recipient, would hand the "stylist" (YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LOOSELY I AM USING THE TERM STYLIST), a thin paper and then a roller. That part wasn't so bad. It was when what I now believe to be Drano was poured over your head. You'd shield your eyes, which were already burning from the mere fumes. The horrid smell was only outdone by the shrieks, as the likely carcinogenic fluid permeated your skin, right down to the cerebral cortex. If you didn't come out of a home perm with lacerations and scabs, you weren't doing it right. Each and every time my mom, Susan or I did a home perm, my dad would stop sucking on his cigarette long enough to complain about the fact that we were trying to kill him (note the irony). 

You'd sit there waiting the 60 minutes to find out your destiny, secretly terrified you may have to feign illness for school on Monday or try to pretend you truly were going for the poodle look. Almost as bad was when you wasted an entire afternoon, only to unroll it and find you basically looked the same. This was followed by teenage wrath unleashed on the unlicensed stylist (your mom), who was probably secretly wishing she would have wound those rollers a little tighter. We didn't have the term "quality time" back then, but I think this bonding experience definitely qualifies.
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