16MOTHER'S NEW DAUGHTER

like the 'before' pictures. Should we stop or go for the curls."

Mother said, "Go for the curls! It'll be easier to take care of and look shorter."

My heart beat wildly. I knew it looked too long. I was going to have to do something. In another year my hair could be to my waist. With a sheepish grin, I nodded an "okay."

With a wide-tooth comb she combed my hair back and straight. "Take a good look," she laughed, "You won't be seeing it like this for a while."

Pat lined up what seemed like hundreds of perm curlers in a large cart. Checking the sectioned hair, she turned me from the mirror. "I don't want you to chicken out half way," she joked as she sectioned off more hair from the very back of my neck. Combing it through meticulously, she held it straight out, pulling it rather tightly.

Mother handed her an end paper and smiled at me. Pat slid it up to the end of the tendril and took a thin roller and began to wrap the hair slowly-pulling it firmly as she wound the rod all the way to my scalp and up against my head.

"OUCH!" I complained.

"Beauty hurts!" she said as she pulled an elastic band across the rod making sure it was on very snugly. Then she put the cap onto the other side of the rod.

Pointing to Allison's picture in the magazine, mother said, "Your girlfriend in the magazine went through this, so don't be a baby." That shut me up.

Pat continued to do each section----it was going very slowly. I heard a dryer buzzer go off from Pat's other client. It startled me. She ran off and to my relief, the client's hair was not dry. It must be very long.

Pat continued working her way up towards the top of my head. My head was getting heavier and I could feel a pulling sensation from every curler! At times tears came to my eyes. It wasn't really painful----I just wasn't used to people pulling my hair.

She worked her way around my head. I had no idea how many rods were in my head or what I looked like since I was facing away from the mirror.

SANDY THOMAS ADV. -17

Mother kept chatting about drivel as Pat worked. Again the other client's buzzer went off and Pat scurried off to check.

"I feel silly," I told my mother. "If that's someone I know from school, I'll die!" Pat reset the timer again and came back.

She wrapped a thick towel around my neck then wiped a thick cream all around my hairline. She pulled out a real long strip of cotton and began tucking the strip up under the curlers around my neck and hairline.

Shaking the contents of several bottles together, the room began to stink. She began soaking each curler with the perm lotion. At first I didn't feel anything, but suddenly a cold sensation reached my scalp.

The smell began to overwhelm me. I wanted to run and get some air! Pat moved quickly as she soaked each rod, making sure each was drenched . . .using several bottles of lotion.

"We're getting there," she encouraged witnessing the panicked look on my face. She turned on one of the big hairdryers near the shampoo bowls and away from the other client who was certainly cooked well done by now.

Pat pulled out a large plastic bag and placed it carefully over my curlers. "Okay curly," she cracked, "Follow me."

She sat me down in the padded dryer chair and adjusted the hood over my head. I was happy my back was to her station chair. I knew the other woman would be there for her style and I didn't want her to see me.

It wasn't fun! The smell of rotten eggs burned my nose and flaming hot air blew all around my face. I tried to stay in the center of the hood, but sometimes my head would touch the blistering hot plastic.

I looked at the timer. Thirty minutes was set. I clenched my teeth----I could handle that.

I thumbed through some old women's magazines; half hoping to see Allison in one.

After 25 minutes, Pat came over and checked on a couple of curler rod. "You need more time," she said, setting the timer for fifteen more minutes.

Finally after two more checks, Pat announced that there was enough curl. I wanted to run away. I already was making plans for a crew cut.