Hair, Humidity, and Hot Dogs

I don’t know how well you fare, but humidity does a number on me. I honestly don’t know how people who live in Florida—the humidity capital of the United States—do it. I especially don’t know how all old people who flock to Florida do it. I’m not an old person—unless you ask my son—and I sure couldn’t do it. Never mind how oppressively uncomfortable humidity is, which is bad enough all on its own, but it’s the effect on my hair that puts me over the edge.

And no, I’m not shallow. Well, okay, not incredibly shallow, but that’s not the point. The point is, I have very long, thick hair and there is absolutely nothing for it to do with itself in this weather other than wilt like a bad bunch of begonias. So I can do nothing else with it other than to put it up.

And putting it up involves me achieving a look that resembles a bee’s nest parked atop my head. Seriously. Just ask the bee that got in there last year. I distinctly heard buzzing coming from somewhere close by, so my husband peered into the back of my hair and told me there was actually a bee in there. This prompted my husband, my son—and probably the bee—to break into wild fits of hysterical laughter about it. I was not amused.

Once recently when I was shopping at the grocery store, carefully balancing my nest on my head, the cashier commented on how she loved my hair like that, and thought it was “tres chic.” I told her it was “shabby chic” at best, but thanked her nevertheless. Luckily nothing flew out of it and stung anyone in the store, including the nice cashier who obviously needed a stronger prescription for her glasses.

Speaking of the grocery store, the other thing I absolutely detest about humidity is how eating anything while it’s hot and sticky will make me look—and feel—way fatter than I am.  Just nibbling on a rice cake in this weather can make my clothes tight; but I’ve found the very worst food to eat when humidity levels reach approximately 300% is a hot dog. If I even look at a package of hot dogs on days like this, I gain 20 pounds. And If I actually go ahead and consume one in these conditions, I will either look like someone inflated me with an turbo-powered air pump, or that I got stung by 8,000 bees; which were all probably hiding out in my hair before they attacked.

So from now on, in this seemingly never-ending stretch of humidity we’re being subjected to, I’m swearing off all hot dogs as well as any hopes of having presentable hair. And I’m also sticking a sign in my nest which reads, “NO BEES ALLOWED”.