Ah, September! Everyone has their own reasons for loving this transitional month, but the first thing that comes to my mind is the joy of having a passable hair-do again.

I have no idea what month of the year my Scotch and Irish ancestors arrived here, but it must have been in autumn or at the first greening of spring. They gazed at the rolling hills, lush foliage, sighed with relief and exclaimed, “Ah! Just like the old country!” I’m convinced if they’d arrived during one of our ice-encrusted winters or during a summer such as we’ve just had they would have kept right on moving. They’d have been justified in doing so if only to spare their children and grandchildren endless bad hair days.

One of the great mysteries of the universe is humidity. Hanging at one hundred percent day after day and holding moisture so thick you can feel it part like the Red Sea as you pass through, it does not nourish the clouds. It may not rain for weeks at a time. Anything that heavy and oppressive ought to give way to sheer gravity, wouldn’t you think?

All the straight-haired girls complain about the humidity’s affects, but I caution you – don’t do it in front of us Curly Girls. It’s the equivalent of hearing a guy say that his pain is worse than being in labor. On a good day, we Curly Girls will offer a weak, indulgent smile and keep our mouths shut, but once we’re about three weeks into Bad Hair Season, we are no longer responsible for our actions.

Some of us were blessed with curls from the get-go. For others, like me, it comes upon a person suddenly and without warning. There I was, going along through grade school, minding my own business, when the sudden change blindsided me.

It had never been perfectly straight. My mom or big sisters could wind my wet locks around their fingers and get it to turn up or under on the ends. My bangs, cut straight across my forehead, lay in an even line, behaving as bangs should.

Then, it happened. Within a matter of months, things spiraled (literally) out of control, resulting in a series of school photos unfit for the human eye.  My parents and siblings, who may have shared a dozen or so waves amongst themselves, had no idea what to do about the walking bush they used to call little sister. I still remember being perched on a stool, surrounded my multiple siblings all offering advice to my scissor-wielding sister as she stood beside me trying to figure out where to start. Their hand gestures scared me to pieces.

If your hair is straight, humidity will reduce the volume and relax the curl. You may even get a frizz or two on top. My advice – take it and be grateful. I, on the other hand, can gauge the relative humidity by consulting my bangsometer. It’s readings fluctuate all the way from winter’s “sprayed-and-stayed” to spring’s “why-are-you-pointing-over-there?” to mid-summer’s “oh-for-cryin’-out-loud-I-used-a-ton-of-spray-and-they’re-actually-curling-FORWARD!”

When that happens, we Curly Girls bear it as best we can, along with life’s other injustices. However, it does provoke nasty looks when someone approaches with a camera.

I know what you’re thinking. I can hear you saying, “Silly girl, when it’s humid outside, just let it do its own thing!” Ah! Again, let me enlighten you. Curly bangs must be inches longer than straight bangs. Otherwise, they will bunch up next to the hairline in a wad. I refuse to post a picture of that sort of disaster here. Ever.

There are times when you just pretend that voluminous is glorious and smile anyway.

The squiggles you see in my little blondie’s hair were but a foreshadowing. She grew up to have some pretty sassy curls, too, and yes, they brought with them the trauma I’d expected they would.

Once a year, on my birthday, I throw caution to the wind and actually approach open flame with “the hair”.

You’re probably assuming that Smuffy is off-camera, stage left, holding a fire extinguisher, but no, I do it like Evel Knievel.

The nineties offered an opportunity to express myself. I loaded up on styling gel and while everybody else turned upside down to blow dry and spent a fortune on perms and hours achieving volume, I just air-dried and walked through doors sideways.

It balances out the shoulder pads and the wallpaper really well, don’t you think?

On really bad hair days, I could shove in a few pins and contain the mess on top (if you call this look “contained”).

A friend told me that this attempt at a “glamour shot” succeeded in making me look like Miss Kitty Russell, owner and proprietor of the Long Branch Saloon in Dodge City, Kansas. I took no offense. (I still have a crush on Marshall Matt Dillon.)

Photographic evidence does not lie.

Taken just one day apart, these photos show that just when you think you’ve got a grip on things, humidity and humility arrive hand-in-hand, causing your smile lose its natural ease and become strained.  Please, someone tell me that I did not leave the house on Day 2!  (These are not mug shots. We were testing lipstick shades, just in case you’re thinking I got arrested for that hair.)

Over the years, I stopped moaning, “I hate my hair!”  Parts of God’s plan will always remain a mystery to mere mortals and He certainly performed a mysterious work on my head. I made peace with the fact that He knew what He was doing, especially after reading the words of the ardent lover in Song of Solomon. Remember him – the one who bounds over the hills like a young stag, pleading, “Arise, come, my darling, my beautiful one…”? One of the physical qualities that had him so worked up was the fact that his beloved possessed hair “like a flock of goats”.

I think I’ve offered enough evidence here to prove that this man would go wild over me! If there’s ever been a woman with hair like a flock of goats…I’m just sayin’.

Smuffy has embraced my curly look as though he’s Solomon himself and has come to the point where, if a wild notion strikes me to straighten it, he gives me the thumbs-down.

The struggle to come to the place where I could shout from the rooftops, “I love my hair!” came almost nineteen years ago when I walked into the chemo room knowing we would soon say good-bye.

Since then, all I can say is , “Love it! Love it! Can’t get enough of it!” But, golly, I’m glad it’s September!

If you’re struggling to embrace your curls, I hope my story has helped you appreciate them or, at the very least, smile a little and lighten up!  Need a stronger remedy? You’ll find more on my “Laugh” page. enjoy Life, Laughter and Lemons here and, by all means, catch up on my exciting “Life With Smuffy”!

My little goats have been corralled and now behave themselves to a much greater degree.  A lifelong search has brought me, at last, fabulous products that separate the curls and define them, making all the difference. Coming up: A review of my all-time favorite Curly Girl arsenal of products!

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Today I am linking up with Anna Nutthall.  For more inspiring posts, click here.