I Rock Rough and Stuff with my Afro Puffs

I know it's kind of forward to just come out firing my strengths and tooting my own horn and that compliments are better given by someone other than self, but... we don't always have the luxury of "someone other than self". So here I am. Telling you how awesome my hair is. And the hard knock truth of life is this-- you can't win 'em all. So don't get jealous if your hair isn't as great as mine. And if your hair isn't as great as mine... it probably means you were sorely cursed with pubic like hairs growing from your head. For which I offer my condolences. That is terrible. And I half-way empathize. Welcome to me- el natural.

From shower to air dried hair. This is the result. You can imagine my horror when I looked into the mirror  in 8th grade to be greeted by this same sight. My manageable hair had been attacked overnight by "Get Frizz" and "Afro Puffs" and would never return to pre-assault state of being. There's your definition of trauma. And to think I just went with it for a few months. Thinking there was no remedy, no solution, that this was my fate and nothing could change it. Thank you, puberty. Me and my box of tampons had desperately been waiting for you. Just didn't know this was part of the package deal.
This transformation and the associated horror reminds of the morning I looked in the mirror 4 days after Dallin had been born. My jaw dropped in disgusted disbelief to see the double F's soft B's staring back at me. I'd never seen anything so BIG and intruding. Unfortunately... those did return to their original deprived state.
You can't win 'em all. So please keep your eyes.... on my gorgeous blue eyes.