Hair Barrettes

You guys, I was totally going to write something last week and instead I got shots in my back and was an irritable sweaty rage monster and had to hide myself from the world. Like the Phantom of the Opera. Only without the kick ass face mask and broadway musical score.

Image result for phantom of the opera

But I am feeling better and awaiting my second round of shots so I’m ready to share a story of emotional heartbreak from my childhood.

When I was a kid my little sister, J, and I shared everything. A room, a bed, a pillow at times. But the one thing we hated sharing was our toys. Is there anything worse than sharing toys as a child?

Okay, yes.

But as a kid, that shit is the fucking worst. And my sister and I fought constantly over…well…basically everything.

There was one thing we seemed to fight over more than anything else though. Our hair clips.

These EXACT ones!!! I’m not going to lie, I moaned when I saw this picture.

Our collection of them was extensive and impressive. You guys know what I’m talking about. Little plastic hair barettes.

I don’t know what they look like now. But when we were kids we had everything. There were days of the week in multiple colors. Clips with puppies and kittens. Glittery gel clips. Clips with hearts and stars. The more traditional bow and ribbon style clips. And, best of all, rainbow clips!

It was a cornucopia of cheap plastic and tiny rows of gripping teeth.

We were obsessed with them. An outfit was not complete without matching hair clips. And god help you if we both wanted to wear the same ones on the same day.

These images are making my heart ache

We kept them stored first in a toy sized plastic garbage can and then eventually in a kaboodle. Do you guys remember kaboodles? They were like tackle boxes for little girls. I am not even joking when I say I would have one right now if I found one.

My father always has very long grey hair growing up. In fact, my father looked like Jerry Garcia. He looked so much like Jerry Garcia that my mother once bought a Grateful Dead bumper sticker and I thought it was of my father somehow.

This is basically a portrait of my father

My mother laughed at me for that for about three weeks. Like I would have known who the Grateful Dead were at that age. I was a 14 year old honor student, not a stoner college freshman.

Anyway, my father would get drunk and watch football on Sundays and my sister and I would sit behind the couch and try to put every clip in his hair that we could. He wound up looking like some sort of creepy old man Medusa.

It was fun.

I don’t remember the exact fight. But sometime around the age of 9 my sister and I got into a massive fight over a specific hair clip. I’m going to guess it was the rainbow one. I always had a thing for rainbows.

My father confiscated the barrettes.

In my house confiscation was like death. It was the equivalent of taking the aging family dog to a farm upstate.

I don’t know what happened to the things he confiscated. But we never saw those barrettes again.

I still have not emotionally recovered. Those barrettes man. They were plastic gold.

And, because I love all of you so much, here is a rare picture of me at that age. With a barrette in my hair. Also you need to know this outfit consisted of a pastel leopard print button up, an acid washed denim skirt, fucking SUSPENDERS, and sneakers with socks.

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