The higher the hair, the closer to God.

For those of you who know me really well, you would know that I am from southern Mississippi: home of beauty queens and debutantes. Though these two roles do not accurately describe me, I have yet to forget the big hair I come from.  The women in my family have big hair. Or at least we try to; even the Lofton women have bad hair days. Teasing and an ample amount of hair spray along with a few squirts of Freeze It moose are all a part of a morning routine that we take very seriously.

I have personally been a member of the fohawk and poofed hair style for a while and have been perfecting my skills since, oh, early high school. But this Bump It thing is ruining me. Recently, more than ever, I have been asked by total strangers and acquaintances if my "poof" is a Bump It. What? That's like asking me if I have silicone stuffed into my chest. Its like asking me if my 10-year-old truck runs on ethanol. No. For the record, I do not wear Bump It's, nor do I need to. My mother, bless her, bought me a pack and we tried these three-sizes-fit-all Bump It's. Here is my customer review. They suck, but the smallest one happens to suck a little less than the other two. If the higher the hair, the closer to God is true, a Bump It would make you all up in God's grill. No one wants that in this situation. So no, I don't use a Bump It.

When I am asked the same question of, "Is that a Bump It?" I get a little annoyed because often times the questioner is not looking at me, but directly at my rounded "poof." I breath deeply, and shyly answer no often times with an added giggle or twang. This is when the conversation can go one of two ways. Either the questioner can accept my answer and move along or he/she can continue to stare in awe and an non-believing manner. If the latter of the two occur, I simply ask if they would like to touch it. At this point I give a little demo of bouncing my "poof" and that's when they look at me like I'M crazy. This, my friends, is when all of my Southern Comfort runs out the door and B.Lo. comes out to play. Now the story with B.Lo. is for a different time, a different day. Just know, she is my alternate personality and is less patient and kind that I am. So when these strangers and acquaintances act like I am crazy, I simply continue to bounce the "poof" and walk away. They are officially off the list of "give out health and beauty advice to" that I have dialoged in my head.

For those of you who are reading this and have asked me about my high-life hair, ask yourself this: Have you found your way off one of my many lists? If so, make it up to me by never asking me about a Bump It again :). All the love.


PS: I am always willing to demonstrate the non-Bump It "poof."