I have a lot of hair. And I’m thankful for it. But having a mass of hair that sometimes looks and feels like I’m wearing a helmet also has a few disadvantages.
Last weekend I was wiping down the furniture in our sunroom and I had to constantly repeat my actions because as quickly as I would wipe, sweat would fall back onto the table.
In no time at all my hair was soaked from mid-back of the head to the nape. It looked like I had just gotten out of the shower. That in itself is expected. If you physically work, especially on hot Florida days, you are bound to perspire–or in my case sweat like a farmhand.
But what’s not expected–or tolerated–is the combination smell of sweat and dirt.
As I went about finishing my chores, I got sidetracked on shampoos and all the various scents they come in.
We change it up at our house, because somedays you feel citrusy and others, you want to smell like an herb garden. You don’t want to smell like some of those specialty shampoos that treat scalp disease or dandruff. Who wants to be compared to the LaBrea Tar Pits?
When I was in high school, the shampoo fad of the decade was Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific. Every teenage girl who read “Seventeen” or “Teen” magazine fell prey to the advertising campaign that promised total strangers would greet you in the street with the words, “Gee, your hair smells terrific.”
It was a nice floral scent and I used it for years and then it seemingly disappeared from the market.
I did a little online research and discovered that it was once made by Jergens but was sold to a company in the Philippines, where it is still popular and a Vermont company holds the trademark. It can still be purchased through a website.
However, when I went to that website, I learned it is $15 a bottle–it retailed for $2 in the 1970s. Now we’re not talking about salon quality shampoo just ordinary hair soap.
Another search found it on a “bargain” website–for $14.95.
Yes, I remember it smelled terrific, but not $15 worth of terrific, so I abandoned the idea. Afterall, besides my husband, my children and maybe my dentist, who actually gets close enough to me to smell my hair?
However, that same site had an entire section of nostalgic candy–like Kits, BB Bats, Bit O’Honey and Turkish Taffy–the candies I once paid 1 cent for at Nora Smith’s Store. Now they’re $12.95 per pound. I may have to think about that one.