My senior year of high school was nearing its end which meant a professional [looking] photo had been scheduled, on a non-school day, late afternoon. Yikes! For me, that meant stepping outside of my comfort zone. Let it be known that I am not, have never been, and never will be a girl that knows how to make her hair and [very minimal] makeup look awesome. Thank goodness for my older sister Chris, who, on the other hand, was the hair and makeup girl in the family. She definitely had style.

“Hey Daph, let me fix your hair for your senior picture,” she said as she fiddled with my fuzzy mop.
“Really? I just fixed it,” I said in response.
“Come on. I will make it look nice. You have time,” she pleaded.
“Alright. Fine,” I not-so-willingly agreed.

Honestly, I was nervous. Wondering what the other kids at school would think. My hair looking styled, instead of an unkempt frizz-ball. But I figured what the heck, why not? You only live once, right? So, Chris began brushing my hair, completing the finishing touches an hour or so later.

“Oh, I think you are going to like it. Your hair looks so pretty,” she said as she turned me toward the mirror.

I looked at my reflection. My hair was styled, smooth, and she had added a bit of soft curl and parted it just right. She definitely made me look nice. Really pretty, in fact. But… it didn’t look like me. Not the me I was used to. My hair looked too perfect. Too smooth. Too focused on.

“Sorry, Chris,” I winced, feeling bad. “But I don’t want to take my picture with this hair style.”

So… I washed my hair, again. I needed to restore it to my normal fuzzy puff at the bottom, less so on top.

“O–K” my sister responded to my freshly washed and wildly dried hair. “At least you pulled the top portion back. Makes it look better.”
“Yep. Now I am definitely ready to have my picture taken,” I stated firmly, as I walked out the front door.