Sadly I’ve had to give up on the unofficial experiment to see just how long I can go without washing my hair. Six days, apparently. So here I sit, surrounded by newspaper and cardboard carnage with squeaky clean hair. Pitiful. I didn’t even make it a full week! Clearly my dedication and work ethic have waned.
This decision was not the result of the looks of unmitigated disgust my friends made when I told them about said experiment. Really, such looks aren’t hard to come by for me. My propensity to yell “Yum!” every time Rocco snarfs wads of phlegm while strolling through an allergen infused park has never helped. Matt was particularly horrified by the experiment. He likened showering without soap to washing your hands BEFORE going to the bathroom. Pshaw.
This decision was also in no way shaped by the decreasing style-ability of the hair. Style is relative. I’m sure the Alfalfa look will make a huge resurgence this fall. I’m just ahead of the times.
No, I realized it was time when Rocco and I decided to call it a night on the unpacking tip and crashed in the living room. I sloughed off my shoes and plopped my head against the back of the couch. Rocco made impact with the cushions about twenty seconds later. After a moment, we looked at one another. My eyes full of chagrin, his full or horror. “Babe. Your feet. They really REALLY stink.”
We both laughed and I slipped back on my shoes to delay dealing with personal hygiene. To be fair, my feet stink if you look at them wrong. I’ve cleared out quite a few nail salons after a long day in sneakers. I didn’t think a thing about it as a shower was slated for after dinner anyways – a shower without shampoo.
We resumed our discussion of what to eat for dinner. Since it’s Rocco’s night to cook, he had first choice on where to order from. Just as he was reaching full momentum in his discussion of why Chinese food would be the perfect choice for the evening, he missed a beat. “Seriously, maybe we don’t need to eat dinner. Your feet are putting a serious damper on my appetite.”
“But I put my shoes back on!”
“You smell like man ass.” He leaned in closer. “Actually, I think it might be your hair.”
It takes exactly six days for my head to go from aromalicious to agonizing. Aw yeah, who wants to make out with ME?! Form a line there to the right. I should be ripe again in just a quick six more days. I’m sure I should be embarrassed but…
Of course, as with any serious experiment, I’ll need to see if I can repeat the same results. I’ll get back to you on when the second installment of “Funky Follicles” launches. First though, I’d like to thank those that made the first installment possible:
- My Building Mates – thank you for consistently using up all the hot water in the entire building and inspiring me to put off a much needed shower, “just one more day. “
- My Baseball Hat – for carrying me through those tough days when I thought “I can’t possibly leave the house with my hair in this state!”
- Corporate America – for putting parabens, phthalates, and all the other horrible carcinogens that terrify the bejeezus out of me into your shampoos and conditioners.
- Rocco – for smoking enough cigars over the past six days to not notice if my level of rank was on the incline. You’re my rock, Roc.
- The Academy – really, its such an honor to have even been nominated.
…and last but not least…
- My Brothers- who gave me the strength and determination to realize just how much fun there is in gross-ness.
Thank you and good night!