No matter if you rock a TWA, or have curls flowing down your back, we share a common problem. It doesn't matter where you are; talking and joking with friends or in an important meeting, this always seems to happen.
Yesterday I went to the Grand Prix with Derek. His job was sponsoring one of the drivers so we got in free and was able to enjoy the private lounge area with free food and drinks. There I was, meeting a lot of his co-workers and even a few big wigs at his job. I thought I was looking cute: light makeup, colorful and fun, yet appropriate attire, with a beautiful and defined twist-out. I was a fine example of what a young man's girlfriend should look like at a company's function.
I excused myself to go to the restroom before we hit the grandstands to look at the actual race. Once I got in there and took a look in the mirror: I was horrified at my reflection. There was all kinds of mess stuck in my amazing, fluffy twist-out! A speckle of pollen to the left, some mysterious green strands of something ungodly at the crown, and few spots of little cotton balls to the right. As my fingers immediately dug into my Fro to retract all of the foreign objects out of it, I wondered why no one, including my boyfriend, didn't try to pick this mess out of hair or at least notify me of the situation. I mean, what the hell! I was looking like a feather duster just dumped all of its contents onto my hair with my permission. No sir, that's not right!
I tried to understand why no one tried to get this mess out of all of my glory and I had a good theory: there's this unwritten rule that says if you touch a Black woman's hair you'll get dealt with (although I'm an exception to this rule), so maybe that's why people were reluctant to put their hands near my mane. But that still doesn't mean they couldn't speak to me about it. Even if they'd made a hand gesture to clue what was going on above me would've sufficed. Not saying anything is just cruel.
That's why I feel as though if you are going to call yourself a friend of mine, it is your automatic duty to notify me at any given time (immediately would be best), if I have anything at all in my hair. After all, if I'm your true friend, you wouldn't allow me to look like a mess next to you because that would reflect negatively on yourself. Right?
From now on I'm calling my friends my Fro guards. Just like a body guard protects you from harms way, your Fro guards must protect your hair from getting something entangled in its curls. Make sense right?
Tell me what you think! Have you notice you got crap stuck in your hair after hanging with your friends for awhile? Go off in the comments below!