December 31, 2010
I gave in. After four months of roughing it, I bought a hair straightener. It was a tough decision. I'm in the Peace Corps, so I'm supposed to be living in huts and walking eight miles to school, up-hill both ways, in one thousand degree heat. Therefore, it only makes sense that I would wear hemp sandals and let my hair flow wavy in the breeze. But since I live in a heated concrete house, and since I take a taxi two miles through snow and ice across the edge of the steppe to get to work, I figure I'm violating every other rule of Peace Corps. Thus, my Christmas gift to myself was spending fourteen dollars on a flatiron.
It made its inaugural appearance on the night of the office's New Year's party. For one night, it was almost like I was home. I washed my hair, put on an almost-American (though maybe too short for Kazakhstan) dress. Royal blue, not black. I did my makeup how I wanted- skip the lipstick. And put on heals rather than knee-high boots. Then, just like ice turns these pot-hole-ridden roads into smooth glass, that lovely cosmetic corrector turned my frizz into silky locks.
There are no words to describe my delight… pure heaven! I felt like a new me. Or maybe I just felt like the old me, but in Kazakhstan.
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