CONTENTS UNDER PRESSURE: SPRING'S A HAIRY ISSUE FOR SOME OF US

We're past the midway mark in February, so it's safe to start thinking about spring.

Like most people, I think about springy things as the season approaches: Tulips, buds on the trees, green grass, warm weather, cute, fuzzy little baby animals and of course, chocolate Easter bunnies.

But every year as March gets closer, another obsession creeps into my winter-weary brain, much as the season sneaks up on us a blossom at a time.

I want new hair.

I need new hair. I must have new hair. You think I'm being repetitious, but in another week or so, this is going to become my mantra. I will mutter it over and over and work myself into a trance over a pile of "Celebrity Hairstyle" magazines.

I don't want a haircut, though Lord knows I could use one. I don't want a different hairstyle. My hair hasn't had an actual style in so long, I wouldn't know what to do with one.

I want hair that has the capacity to be styled. You know, something you can actually get a comb through. Color would be nice, too.

I don't have good hair. It's short. It's very thick. It's wavy. Not curly, just inconveniently wavy so it sticks up in all the wrong places. And it's dark brown.

Not black. Not chestnut. Not mahogany. Just really dark brown. No shine, no gloss, no nothing.

I had long hair when I was a kid, but once I was old enough to be responsible for combing it myself, I got it cut. Combs would wander into those tangles and never be heard from again.

Now that only happens to stylists.

Back in the '80s, I'd get perms every now and then. My hair's so thick, the rods would pop out and fly across the room.

The stylist told her boss she wanted combat pay.

Now that I'm older, I've noticed a new growth pattern. My hair only reaches a certain length, then it starts bushing out. It may never be shoulder-length again, but I think I could get it to shoulder-width.

The problem is, much as I want new hair, I can't describe what kind of hair I want. The closest I can come is "perfect."

I can see myself plopping down in the stylist's chair and telling her, "I'd like perfect hair, please."

"I'm not going in there," she'd reply.

I keep it short so I can gel it into submission, at least in theory.

Theories are often wrong, by the way.

My friend Robin has perfect hair. It's long, it's blonde, and it falls just right to curl lovingly around her shoulders.

She hates it. It's too thin, it's too dry. She just hates it.

Most women hate their hair. That's why we spend so much time combing, teasing, drying, styling, spraying and just plain fixing our hair.

It doesn't work. That's why we have to FIX it.

Before you start snickering, guys, I have three words for you: Male pattern baldness. Go polish your hairlines. You'll feel better.

I think it's a control issue. You can only do so much about your job, your employer, your employees, your kids, your spouse, your life in general.

Your hair, on the other hand, is fairly malleable. You can color it, curl it, change it. At least to a point. And once you reach that point, when your hair is either absolutely flat or standing straight out from your scalp, all the Final Net in the world isn't going to help.

Life is not fair. On the other hand (strand?), a hairstyle, or the lack thereof, should not be a metaphor for the human condition.

Maybe what I really need for spring is a hat.

~Peggy O'Farrell is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.