A Household Word
Take 3 to 5

I went to the beauty parlor last week for a wash, cut and blow-dry. After the hairdresser scrunched, spritzed and sprayed, I have to admit, my hair looked pretty good. The stylist handed me a mirror. While I was admiring the back of my head, he said, "You should really use a good conditioner in your hair. Try this."

He handed me a bottle that looked like it had been designed by NASA. It was white and chrome and sleek. It was tiny and it cost $22. But my hair looked great and I was willing to pay big bucks to keep it that way. "All you have to do," the hairdresser said, "is leave the conditioner on for three to five minutes."

"Whoa!" I thought as I ran my fingers through my newly silken locks. "Who has time to wait around in the shower for three to five minutes?"

"Women with nice hair," he retorted, as I shelled out the cash.

Not moms, I thought. And not me. I’ve got three kids and no time for a beauty regimen. I keep all my makeup in my car and I blow my hair dry by driving to soccer games with the windows open.

I thought about the three to five minutes and what I can usually accomplish in that amount of time. In three minutes I can make school lunches, clean the bathroom for company, read the entire Sunday paper, attend a parent-teacher conference, and have sex. Who knows what I could do with five minutes? Maybe create diamonds out of coal, grow bonsai or cram in an entire night’s sleep. Twenty-two dollars I could manage, but three to five minutes would be hard to finagle.

At the dinner table that night, my new coif shone under the kitchen lamp. "How do you like the new me?" I asked. My husband and oldest son said I looked the same as ever. My daughter told me I looked more normal (I think that’s a compliment, coming from a middle-schooler) and my 8-year-old son, who is so opposed to change that he wears his socks for a week, said, "I liked you better before."

Not me. I thought my hair looked great. It swung against my cheek as I loaded the dishwasher. It tickled my neck as I broke up a brawl between the boys and it stayed in place as I did two loads of laundry, cleaned out the cat box, went through the kids’ backpacks, took out the garbage and ran out to the convenience store for a gallon of milk. When I collapsed in bed at midnight, my hair didn’t. It was still shiny, swingy and, dare I say, ... perky? It was Stepford hair and it was fabulous.

Until the next morning. When I got up, I rushed to the mirror and my shiny, blow-dried hair looked like bad topiary. It was stiff and sticking out at odd angles all over my head.

"I’m taking a shower," I announced to my family. "No one can come into the bathroom or yell for me until I come out. If someone is bleeding, you can slip me a note."