I whip my hurr back n forth… I whip my hurr….

Filthy, nasty, dirty kid hands.

Old women. 

Men. 

My own mama.

I can’t seem to escape it.

My hair doesn’t want any of you touching it!

I’ve been conditioned *hehe, conditioned, get it? I’m such a nerd :D* to not let ANYONE touch my hair since I was a youngin’.

NO ONE. 

 Even a former manager, Hurricane Katrina, must own the biggest pair of balls to think it was ok to touch my hair. Just ran her nasty fingers all through my clean locks.

Just this past Tuesday, when I was at Wal-Mart, this old woman, probably in her 80s, decided to just reach out and touch. Lady, I am not your personal baby doll. 

Let me make it a little clear for you. 

DO NOT EVER ON YOUR OLD, WRINKLY LIFE, EVER, EVER, TOUCH MY HAIR. 

See that foot? See the woman defying gravity underneath? That will be you.

Don’t try it, thinking, “Oh it’s so soft and curly” or “Wow, I didn’t think it was possible for your hair to look like this“.

Do you think my hair is going to be hard like a brillo pad? 

Or like shredded wheat?

Pfft.

Go Sit Yo Old Tail Down Somewhere. 

This goes for anyone who thinks it’s ok to violate someone’s personal space. Keep your hands out of my hair! You don’t see me grabbing your breasticles saying, “Oh, they’re so old and soggy! I could play hacky sack with them! Or hot potato!!

I see how pregnant women feel. I’m sure they don’t want complete strangers rubbing their love child. 

But I love my hair. I embrace it. 

I am proud, PROUD, to say I never had a weave. 

Especially ones that causes anyone’s hair to look like shredded wheat.

It makes my heart weep when I see these young and old women walking around with Africa on top and Cabbage Patch Silky Indian hair on the bottom. Don’t believe me? Google “bad weave”. I see it everywhere in my city.

Which is why unless you’re God, myself, my mom, my stylist and one of my bestest friends, Rachael, or anyone in the salon when I do get it done, you will never see my hair. 

Neva eva. Until I get it back to childhood lengths where I can beat people with my two heavy french braids.

But there’s also a catch.

In order to have hair, you need hair products.

I, Danielle, am a …..

PRODUCT JUNKIE.


It’s been so hard on my wallet. We’re actually in the middle of a divorce. See, our children, 

money, are being separated constantly because those products… 

they’ll seduce you.

With descriptions like “luscious locks” and “moisturized, managable hair” and “strengthen sexy crowns of glory”. “Scrumptious shine” is my personal favorite. And my wallet is jealous. She …

caught me with a bottle of Chi Silk Infusion. 

The Big Size. Chi-chi…. 

she makes my hair feel like a new woman. All soft and silky and luxurious. I feel like that Gwen Stefani song “Luxurious” when I’m using her. But my wallet…

she no understand. She hides our children, money, in her deep pockets, 

sometimes even in her sisters, denim shorts. 

I can never find them and let them go to a new home. Why would she do this to me?!


I can’t help it. The products, they keep calling me, calling me.

So do yourself a favor, don’t touch my hair. 

Daily Dose of Vital Information:

Even in the animal kingdom, siblings fight. 

But in this day and age, you BET NOT, yes, I said BET NOT, do this.

Or someone will come after you. Believe it. 

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