I hate my forehead. Seriously, I have an extra-high hairline, as does my brother. There's this broad expanse of skin above my eyebrows that I absolutely have to cover. It's an obsessive need. For instance, I've realized for the last 3 or 4 days that I really need a haircut. My bangs are getting too long to hang nicely right around eyebrow level. Today they decided to part in the middle, and nothing I did (hairspray, curling brush, or threats of violence) would convince them to cooperate with me. I have forehead peeking out right in the middle, and it's distracting me. I can feel it sitting there, bangs hanging on either side, taunting me.
When I was a kid, I never used to worry about it - I'd wear my hair however it fell... Until one day in 5th grade. I was at recess, playing with some friends, and one of the kids made some crack about how with my (relatively new at that point) eyeglasses and my hair swept back from my face, I bore a striking resemblance to Benjamin Franklin.
Wait, these jerks were my friends? What was I thinking?
Ever since, I've worn bangs. I wore them feathered in junior high, curled and teased a bit in high school and college, and as a flat fringe for the last several years. I've struggled with each and every hairdresser I've used to help them understand the perfect length to trim them - they shrink up when dry, and my cowlicks send them springing in odd directions sometimes, so it's a bit of a tricky proposition. I've cut my bangs myself in a pinch, but my current hairstyle involves blending my bangs into the sides of my hair, and that's just too tricky for my untrained self to do with a pair of Fiskars in the bathroom mirror.
I look at people who have normal hairlines, and I envy their ability to wear a versatile hairstyle. I'd love to part my hair or pull it back in a clip sometimes, but there's that huge, glaring forehead of doom staring back at me in the mirror. Mocking me. Hey there, Ben. How's that kite flying thing going?
Unfortunately, Hubby-head's hairline is relatively high as well, so our children are probably doomed to high-foreheaddom. And when my ten-year-old daughter comes bawling brokenheartedly to me that some jerk in her class told her she looks like an 18th century inventor and politician, I'll pull my hair back from my giant forehead and commiserate for a while before I take her out to get her first haircut with bangs.
Man, kids are cruel.