Heaping handfuls

Thick curly strands twine through my fingers, dangling down my wrists. I stare at it, still unsure if all that hair actually fell from my head. The knot of hair in my hairbrush and the single pieces lying in the sink confirm my suspicion -- my hair is falling out, in great heaping clumps and I don't know why.

A few days ago, I visited my hairstylist, the beautiful and talented Marty, and casually mentioned that my hair was falling out at an alarming rate and had reached a level of dryness that was uncomprable to anything I'd experienced before. I'd taken to brushing it out every night -- the mythical 100 strokes -- in the hopes to encourage my natural oil production and potentially save a strand or two.

Thankfully, Marty is damn good at what she does. Apparently surgery will often cause the body to drop hair and thin your nails. Anesthesia will cause dryness and brittle ends. I had surgery twice in a month. It's amazing I'm not bald! After a quick trim and a deep condition, she recomended I pick up a few nutritional supplements, such as B-12 and Biotin, to help put my internal combustion engine on track. So it was off to the health-food store we go...

Why is it that every health food store I've ever entered smells like patchouli? There are very few scents in the world that cause me to physically draw up like that nasty shit. I girded my loins, and breathing through my mouth, I skirted the natural body soaps and headed for the supplements.

I am an organic kinda girl. We don't eat much packaged food, a few whole grain cereals at best, we buy organic meat and veggies. I cook a lot of our food from scratch and use natural ingredients. But there is something weird about health food stores. I believe they presume that because I use hair spray and wear non-patchouli perfume then I must be a stranger in a strange land.

The clerk made a beeline for me the minute I stepped in the door, I assume for fear that I would taint the organic dog food with my animal-tested eye liner. I told her what I was looking for, she waved me in the right direction and I quickly found what I needed.

At the checkout, the clerk asked why I picked that particular product. I gave her a brief rundown of my hair loss and why. She looked at me for a minute and then suggested I try an all-natural (most likely patchouli-based) shampoo.

I said, thanks, but no. I'm happy with my hair products. She frowned but didn't say anything.

As she was ringing me up, I looked around to make sure the ball of fire was still in my line of sight. He was quietly sitting at a kids table, coloring and holding his nose.

"Son, I'm almost done, lets go. Why are you holding your nose?"

"Mom, it stinks so bad in here. I can't stand to smell any more!"

I looked up at the clerk, who was staring at me gape-mouthed like I should be appalled.

"Yes, it sure does! Let's leave quick and hope we don't smell bad too!"

I shot one last glance at the clerk, who now had a sullen-patchouli lovin' face, standing at the counter with her arms crossed. I flashed her some dimples and gratefully stepped into the fresh air.

Now I just pray that this helps my hair because if I ever have to go back, they might sacrafice me to the Wiccan god of organic composte before I can say "patchouli smells like shit!"