In theory, I love wavy hair. I picture tall, slender, bronze-skinned beauties meandering in their lacy underthings in a field of golden thigh-grazing grass. Their hair is long and plentiful and it unwinds in sunlit mahogany ripples, with a hint of loose curling at the ends. They are wild and free and gorgeous.

UNFORTUNATELY this is not me. I am not tall, elegant, or even able to walk without tripping over my own gargantuan feet. I don’t own pretty underwear. Plus I'd get a rash from all that grass.

And my hair? Brown tangle explosion. It will never resemble the pages of vogue and it will never be socially acceptable.

Damn you, humidity.