'Fro Proud!

I yell this as I punch a fist into the air, "Fro Proud! Fro Power"

My 'fro is literally a 'fro. For you non-urban folks that means afro. I kid. But seriously.

How I got to this fro - you long time readers may remember three years back when I conducted a hair job onto my own head and lost some hair. My some I mean more than willing to go out in public looking like, so I bought a wig which lead me to just cutting down my hair to this 'fro.

All my adult life until that moment, I've had straight hair which was permed. Again, to the non-urban folks, perm to a black person isn't your curly spiral do, it means straightening your hair. With lots of harsh chemicals.

I've been natural for three years now. WOW. Has it been that long? I love my hair now, love it. I get plenty of compliments and great nods from other Black folks and a sense of belonging to a secret club from other natural 'fro'd out Black women. Plus, now me and my mom have the same hairstyle. Yah! I think she's the only one that's really proud of that fun fact, but still, yah!

Last night, oy, last night the bride of a wedding I'm in called and this is how it went down...

Her: Do you want to have your hair and make-up done?
Me: Just the make-up for me. Don't forget to tell them I'm Black so they'll need to bring the dark stuff. Hee hee.
Her: ok, you sure no hair?
Me: I'm sure. Not much they can do to it but pick it out.
Her: You're going to leave it like that?
Me: Uhm...like what?
Her: You're not going to, I don't know where it like you used to before you cut it?

Let me interject. She is Caucasian. She thinks I can just pile some product on my head and blow dry it straight to wear it like I used to do back in the day. She has no clue. So this is when I explained to her Black hair.

Her: OK. So are you going to get it permed?
Me: No way! It's staying like this till I die.

I'm not kidding. Someone will have to pay me a million bucks (I'll go for less because I'm cheap like that) to perm this 'fro ever again. Seriously - all I have to do is massage some product into my hair and pull it out with my hands. My head hasn't seen a comb in three years. Word. My daily hair routine is less time than brushing my teeth.

Her: Well, it won't be formal like the other girls. They're doing updo's.
Me: I can put a flower or rhinestone comb in it. Maybe.
Her: That won't do anything. Are you sure you won't straighten it?

Finally, I'm seeing a problem here. And honestly, I'm not liking it.
My hair was like this before she was engaged.
'Nuff said.

Me: I don't know what to tell you. I can do a fancy headband or...
Her: You need to do an updo like the rest of the girls!
(No, she didn't)

Me: Well, obviously, I cannot. It's like a pageboy cut, I can only add barrettes and stuff to make it look fancy.
Her: That will look tacky.
Me: Again, I don't know what to tell you.
Her: You sure you don't want the hairdresser to straighten it out for you, I'm sure if I ask-

Me: Whoa, nelly. No!
Her: Why not?
Me: No.
Her: This isn't fair.

I'm trying really hard not to call her Bridezilla. AND I'm trying even harder not telling her, she can't have it her way because this is not Burger King. Not kidding. I was actually smiling to myself during this dumbass conversation because I could think of so many times to say that. Ha ha.

But instead I said this:
Well I didn't think it was fair when my hair fell out but I got over it and now I love the situation. So maybe you should get over it and just thank your lucky stars that someone is marrying you.

And we're done here.

HIYA! POW! ZAP! (my best comic book hero sound effects) followed with a 'This is Sparta' kick to the phone.

'Fro power!

Me: