By Jerry Zezima
When it comes to the care of my hair, which is getting a little spare, I stick my tongue in a light socket to give it a certain flair.
That, without rhyme or reason, is what I told a phlebotomist who complimented me on what she called my “beautiful curls.”
Marlin said this as she was about to jab a needle in my arm, the mere sight of which should have made my hair stand on end.
“You have a head like my 2-year-old son,” she noted.
“On the inside or the outside?” I asked.
“The outside,” Marlin said with a smile.
“That’s good,” I replied, “because on the inside, he’s probably more mature than I am.”
The outside of her son’s head, his mother said, is covered with big, soft, round curls.
“Like yours,” said Marlin, possibly to take my mind off the needle.
I told her that my head used to look like her son’s.
“I had so much curly hair that it actually levitated. I couldn’t fit through doorways,” I said. “I don’t have as much hair as I used to and it’s shorter than when I was young.”
“Where do you get your hair cut?” Marlin asked.
“Home Depot,” I answered. “I go to the garden department to get my head weed whacked.”
“Are you serious?” she said.
“Seldom,” I said. “But I really go to a barber named Maria. She’s great.”
“I should take my son to her,” said Marlin, who has straight hair. “My husband should go to her, too, because he has curly hair. Our daughter, who’s 3, has straight hair.”
“I used to comb my hair to make it straight,” I remembered. “I should have used a rake. Eventually, I gave up and let it go natural.”
“You could have used a brush,” Marlin suggested.
“You mean a scrub brush?” I asked. “I would have ruined it. Besides, brushes are dangerous.”
“They are?” she responded.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Have you ever noticed that there are brush fires but not comb fires?”
“I never thought of that,” Marlin said.
“It’s my job to think of these things,” I said. “It happens in my head, under all the curls.”
By this time, Marlin had drawn enough blood to keep my brain from functioning.
“Thanks for not making this a hairy situation,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” Marlin replied. “Tell Maria she does a good job on your hair.”
Later that week, at my haircut appointment, I passed along the phlebotomist’s praises.
“That was very nice of her,” Maria said as she sprayed about a gallon of water on my thick thatch and began to trim away.
“I thought my hair was getting wiry in my old age,” I said.
“When curly hair turns gray, it can become wiry,” said Maria, who has dark curly hair. “Coloring loosens it up.”
“You used to have straight hair,” I said.
“Yes,” she replied. “When I was a kid, it was like I didn’t even have hair. It was so fine that my ears stuck out. When I was a young woman, it suddenly curled. That’s when I started straightening it. I used to wear it straight and long. Now it’s kind of long, but I can’t tame it. So I’ve given up.”
“Your curls are very nice,” I said.
“Thank you,” said Maria. “They’re easier to take care of.”
“That means you don’t have to straighten your hair anymore,” I said.
“Exactly,” she said. “Nobody likes their hair. People with curly hair want it straight and people with straight hair want it curly.”
“I’ll keep mine curly,” I said.
“OK,” Maria said as she finished up by putting a dab of conditioner in my hair. “So you’ll have more curls,” she explained. “They look good on you.”
“Thanks,” I said. “All these compliments are going straight to my head.”
Copyright 2026 by Jerry Zezima
