Attack of the Flying Hair

I’m looking for an intern now!

Photo by Curology on Unsplash

Not a beach. But party. On the way back. And a windy Tuesday.

I can't forget it.

Not the weekend, but I still managed to go out. But the wind had its own plans — plans to destroy my hair, my outfit, and, of course, my dignity.

I decided to fight.

I believed my hair was in its prime—shampooed, conditioned, maybe even with a light serum (you know, for frizz control).

Stupid me.

One single strand of hair decided to go with the wind. Let's call it Roguey — the rebellious one.

Unhinged.

I'm 99.99% sure it had a personal vendetta.

When I stepped into that gusty battlefield, Roguey flew straight into my mouth.

Ever tried walking while spitting your own hair out like a broken fan?

Because I have, and it's no good look.

My hands started waving like I was doing interpretive dance. But I was trying to swipe it away. But the wind? Oh, it had jokes.

Every time I pushed the strand back behind my ear, it did a U-turn and smacked me right in the eye.

My left eye.