1984
Sara was an unusually cute girl. She was a year behind me in
school, and she had that refreshing, innocent girl next door quality about her
that just plain appealed to people. She was nice, popular, and was in the band,
and was a cheerleader as well. Lots of guys were after her for her body, and
for her girl-next-door personality.
I was a Junior, and I was interested in her hair. I suppose
that’s weird. But her hair was perfect, all the time. She was a natural blonde,
and always did a great job taking care of her hair. She was one of those girls
that even after hours of time in band uniform at a football game, when the
hat came off, her hair still looked great.
Her hair was always clean and shiny, always had good body,
always smelled good, was always styled in an appealing manner, and she clearly
took good care of it. I was fascinated by her hair, I suppose because it seemed
so much the epitome of what a woman’s hair should be like. I remember wondering
why more girls didn’t take the same amount of care.
I have always been drawn to great hair on women. I suppose
the fact that they took the time to get it right says something about their
classiness, to me.
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