Some of you will understand this poem! If you do, don't give your age away!
A BEE IN MY BONNET!
Do you recall the Beehive? No, not the one with bees?
But the 1960s hair-do, requiring a lot of 'tease'!
My hair was always whispy and body-less and fine,
But Beehives were the fashion so, of course, I made it mine!
But the struggle and the anguish simply can't be overstated!
The visits to the salon which were frequent and much-hated;
The sitting in the chair as pretty hairdressers tut-tutted,
And their remarks, so critical, which made me feel quite gutted.
'If Modom had more hair' they'd say, 'We'd be able to produce
Something elegant and smart, but, in your case, what's the use?'
'I must look like my friends!' I'd cry 'A poor workman blames his tools!
Modom wants a Beehive! Supply it! Them's the rules!
The customer is always right! So go ahead! Beehive me!
Be creative! Something grand is what you must contrive me!'
And so they duly went ahead, with shampoo, and with rinse,
And a lot of other 'condiments' I haven't noticed since!
Once washed, my little bit of hair lay limply on my head,
Until the wretched rollers made it wide and high instead.
Then came the awful dryer, and a scalp all burning hot,
But a Beehive would be my reward so I didn't mind a jot.
Back-combing! Is it done these days? It's a wonder we survived it!
But hair demanded torture as the hairdresser Beehived it!
The hair was, first, teased one way, and then, as Modom cursed,
The whole revolting process was immediately reversed.
Now all the in-between hair was tangled, knotted, matted,
And the net-result was Modom looking very woolly-hatted!
Now the clever part! A few stray strands, left longer and still pliable,
Were spread out over all the mess and made to look reliable.
Indeed, when it was smoothed and glossed, it really looked a treat,
Like some enormous hairy egg, quite good enough to eat.
Now for the spray and do not think I'm talking of a puff.
Great streams of it for evermore it seemed were not enough!
At last came the displaying, with triumphant shouts of glee,
And the most excited person there was Beehived little me!
I was modern, I was 'with it',( though we didn't use that phrase.)
I paid the pretty hairdresser and heaped great songs of praise.
I peered then, at the outside world, was it a little wet?
If so, I'd need the plastic bonnet one dared not forget!
I'd hurry home before the nasty elements could play
Fast and loose with my great hair, and ruin my whole day.
There followed then a week of care, of lying stiff in bed,
Making sure that nothing spoilt the glory on my head!
( I didn't need a 'headache', my hair had other uses;
I didn't need to parrot any other old excuses!)
Of course, I didn't wash it! Just the lightest surface brush,
And a patting into place of all the bits that I might crush.
But, inevitably, bits began to flop and droop and sag!
By the ending of the week I was a hide-in-the-cupboard hag!
Come Saturday I'd have to go through all the whole routine,
So that I could strut about as the local Beehive Queen!
Was ever there a torture so designed to lay us low?
Did everybody suffer as I did I want to know!
My hair today is flat and fine, and 'doing its own thing'.
It doesn't mind a rainy day or the breezes battering.
I'm so delighted it's no more, that silly fashion craze!
Whoever coined lying words and said
THE GOOD OLD DAYS?
I remember those weekly visits to the "beauty parlor". I can't believe I could go a week without a shampoo! All that hair spray build up. Yuck!
that was wonderful! i recall my mum's trips to the hairdresser and the pins and spray!! :)
Ah yes, I remember it well!
I didn't dare brave a hairdresser as my hair was so straight. They would have thrown me out! I managed to do a little bit of back combing and with some hair lacquer got a bit of height. Until it was windy or it rained as you said.
My hair was long until I had my daughter then it went greasy and lank so in came my Purdy cut. I loved it.
My hair is very thin now too (thank you thyroid) so like you I don't bother too much. Just keep it short.
Thanks for the memories.
Lovely, as usual!
What torture we women have/had to undergo to be 'with it'! One of the girls I studied with had this lovely beehive , and she used to tell us that she didn't touch her hair till the next time she went to the hairdresser's.
I wrote something when in college on the same subject - wonder if I can find it.
Oh wow! You do "rime" like there's no tomorrow. I'm happy about your 1-poem-a-day resolution and I wish you luck there.
I love the "Beehived little me" and the hair having other uses ahahha
I was so mesmerised by the beehive poem that only when I reached the end did I realise it wasn't the sunday scribblings poem I was reading. :)
Well, the beehive was a strange fashion craze alright...almost as bad as the dreads that poke out every which way. Fun to remember it. Thanks.
Hope that craze and fashion doesn't return! I won't know what o do with my scanty hair.
It is amazing that we didn't all go bald from the "back-combing" or *teasing* or whatever anyone called it.
I remember how much it used to hurt to remove all that tortured *teasing* just to wash your hair and start all over again.
Your verse is most impressive. I'm afraid that my mind doesn't think in rhyme, but I do appreciate a good turn of phrase. Left me with a big smile on my face. Thanks! :)
Was a bit jinxed when I read this poem. I had read it earlier and wrote a small comment and it appeared to have vanished...!!
And then realised that you had published this on Oct 12th, the same.
Anyway enjoyed revisitng it again.
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